The Scarlet Thread
by LionQueen
Summary: It was a strange thing to have in common, but there it was and no one else could ever grasp it, this bond between them. He stared at the red sign, thinking of the painful irony, saw another flash of red in his mind, and then he opened the Door.
1. Red Sandcastles

**Title:** The Scarlet Thread  
**Rating:** M  
**Genre:** Drama/Angst/Mystery/Tragedy  
**Characters:** Mainly Corin/Abigail/Jane and Rigsby with frequent appearances by Grace/Lisbon and Cho  
**Warnings:** Deeper into the story there will be some disturbing situations, not overtly graphical in nature, just generally uncomfortable. This is the reason for the M rating. Although, my writing is typically free of vulgarity, and cursing is minimal, only used when it would logically be used.

**Summary: **Picks up in Episode three, Red Tide, when Jane stays on the beach to draw in Flipper, the guy he wants to investigate. In this story, he inadvertently ticks off someone - or is it really inadvertently? The title bears a strong significance to the story, and you will discover what that is.

**Author's Note:** It goes without saying that the only character I can claim as my own is Corin and her daughter Abigail. I hope more Mentalist fic's pop up on here, I absolutely adore the show! Please enjoy and by all means review! Thanks!

_**The Scarlet Thread - By LionQueen**_

_**Chapter 1- Red Sandcastles  
**_

_He wakened from a sound sleep, one he'd slipped into while settling too comfortably into the couch. He was alone and that didn't make him feel too easy. Yet, he only needed to see that the door was still locked from the inside and then he knew where she was. It didn't take a genius, or even a mind reader, just a human being with half a brain. _

_He turned the corridor as if he belonged there, instinctively, as if he'd done so a thousand times before. He was rewarded when he encountered the closed door where hung a red flowered sign that read 'Kids only, No Grown-ups Allowed.'_

_He hesitated a moment. It was a strange thing to have in common, but there it was and no one else could ever grasp it, this bond between them. He stared at the red sign, thinking of the painful irony, saw another flash of red in his mind, and then he opened the door._

"All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray. I've been for a walk, on a winters day."

Abigail rolled a frustrated gaze up at the golden-haired woman driving the car. "Mom, that's old people's music."

Corin glanced down at her daughter and smiled. "So, you're sayin I'm old now, huh?"

"Noo, I'm sayin you listen to old music. Can we change the station? Pleeease??"

"Too late." Corin chimed back, sliding into an empty parking space. "We're here."

There, meaning the shining stretch of white sand that lie just on the other side of the wobbly, wooden fence bordering the parking lot and the beach.

To say it was a gorgeous day would be almost insulting. The temperature was perfectly comfortable, with a steady salt breeze blowing in off the water, and the sky draped over them as smooth as fine, blue silk. It didn't take much coaxing to get Abbie out of the car, although she did have to be prodded to help carry a few things. Such as the totes and the blanket. Corin coddled one tote under her arm, and their lunch she held in her hands, while she let Abbie carry her own beach gear.

Abbie didn't swim very well, but she loved to splash through the ocean water, with the sand disappearing under her feet and the tiny fish nibbling at her toes. Corin was happy when Abbie was happy.

So, they played for a while under the California sun, tossing handfuls of water at each other, and selecting unique shells for Abbie's collection. And when they'd tired, they settled into the sand, munching on cheeseburgers and fries. It might not have been the most nutritious, but it was good, and it was fun. And today was all about fun.

"Penny for your thoughts." Abbie said when Corin spent too long staring out over the shore.

She sighed and then smiled, gazing at her daughter's fine, brown hair being swept up in the breeze. She wasn't perfect, and her life wasn't perfect, but her and Abbie got along just fine. That wasn't to say how that might change when the little girl was ready to shed her childhood and merge into a young woman. There would be boys, and then boys … Oh, and boys.

"Ah, you know your mom." Then Corin rose. "Let me get rid of this and then we'll see if the gulls are hungry, okay?"

She gathered the empty bags while Abbie finished off her hamburger and made her way to the trash can. But her pace quickened when she turned and saw a figure dropping down into the sand near Abbie. A man with curly, disheveled blond hair. He'd dropped to his knees and started digging a hole in the sand with his shoe. Abbie stared at him and then gave him her bucket.

Corin approached, visibly wary, trying to hold her composure when he flicked up sparkling blue-eyes. "You must be mom." He said, winking at Abbie, smiling roguishly and then proceeding to gather piles of sand with Abbie's bucket.

She should have been cautious, a bit defensive, considering this strange man just plopped down and attempted to engage her young daughter in conversation, but he was so boyish- like, kneeling there with his bare feet poking out of a nice pair of rolled up dress-pants, the breeze tossing around his yellow curls. She should have retrieved her little girl and high-tailed it back to her car, but she was standing there instead, as if in a trance, watching him carefully sculpt piles of sand into recognizable figures.

"What are you doing?"

The smile might have been charming, were it not so unnerving, but yet she was still there, gazing at him. He smoothed out another mound and then answered. "When you were a little girl, what did you dream of being? "

"What?"

"What did you want to be when you grew up?"

She eyed him as he rounded out another peak in his sculpture, feeling as if he were somehow slowly unraveling her. She stared at him hard. He was thirty-ish it seemed, close to her own age. He'd peeled off his jacket, socks and shoes, they sat beside him in a pile. But it was his eyes that set her off balance. Clear blue, and likely to win every staring contest challenge he might ever have accepted. He had a relaxed, direct sort of gaze that was both engaging and disturbing. She blinked, catching a flicker of sun glint off the gold ring he wore on his left hand, and then answered wryly. "Do you wear that ring because you're married, or because you want women to think you're married?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?" This time he locked a clear-eyed gaze back into hers and waited for a response. Maybe he expected her to break the stare and look away, or shift her weight and then start babbling on about herself. Instead, she kept her eyes on him.

"If I don't trust the question."

"Or the person asking it?" He'd went back to his sculpture, nearly finished, and scaled over it with his hands, smoothing out the rough edges.

This sandcastle had drawn more attention with each crest he added to it. He grinned, as if feeling accomplished, while the crowd grew larger, applauding the overwhelmingly large structure. It was reminiscent, and quite like a replica of Cinderella's castle. He even managed to score one yellow flag to crown it with.

It would have been impressive, had Corin not turned and glimpsed the look on her daughters face. Abbie had made her own sandcastle, while the stranger was building his condo with her bucket. A meager little lump of sand compared to his giant, meticulously crafted one. Insult was added to injury when he smiled and returned the bucket to an awkward Abigail. Corin's expression darkened slightly. "What was your name again?"

"Patrick. Patrick Jane."

She nodded, taking Abbie's hand and pulling her up on her feet. "Well, Mr. Jane …"

"Please, call me Patrick."

"Right. So, Mr. Jane … I'm glad you enjoy attention so much that you'd think nothing of showing up a ten year old. Nice job, congratulations! Really!"

She gathered the blanket and the totes, and nudged Abbie forwards. He stood up, watching her with interest. "I didn't catch your name either…"

"That's because I didn't give it." She retorted.

"It's Corin." Abbie blurted. "And I'm Abigail, but you can call me Abbie."

Eyes twinkling, his mouth was forming a response, but Corin had already flipped her daughter around and was scolding her as they retreated.

"But Mommy … he was funny. "

She slid into the drivers seat and slammed the door. "Don't ' _but mommy' _me. I've told you Abigail, and I don't want to have to keep telling you …"

Abbie was looking at her shiny-eyed, and then she'd noticed her own raised voice. She hadn't meant to yell at her. She blew out air and then looked at Abbie softly. "I'm sorry. You know, we're all we've got here. You and me. "

She started the car, wondering what on earth had just happened? Who was this man, and how had he managed to hold her there, bouncing words back and forth with him, when any other time she would have fled, Abbie in tow? The conversation, if it could have truly been considered one, rolled around in her head - along with the smooth, gentle tone of his voice. It was unsettling at the least. In an attempt to wipe the encounter from her brain, she eyed the radio. "Guess what? It's your turn to pick the station."

Abbie grinned and reached for the consol, as Corin pulled out of the parking lot. "You know, you're never gonna find a boyfriend if you don't talk, Mom."

With raised eyebrow, Corin smirked, stopping at the light. "Really? And why do I need a boy friend?"

"Well, so you can go out!"

She shook her head as she pulled into the driveway. "Out? Well, that's why I keep you around. Didn't you know that?"

"But it's not the same. Mom, you really need a boyfriend before you get too old."

"Oh. So, you're my Yenta now?" She grabbed the mail before she opened the door. Abbie knew what was next.

"I know… I Know …" She chided playfully. "Boys? Who needs boys?"

They both tumbled into the living room, laughing. "Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them!"

And then Corin sent her daughter to take her bath. They ate popcorn while watching television until they were both dozing off, snuggled under the baby afghan. She woke up, lay for a few minutes listening to Abbie breathing in and out, and then she gathered her up in her arms and took her to bed.

She sat under the dim lighting, feeling a little prickle on the back of her neck, glanced at the window and then called him before he called her first.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Ah, nothin. Checkin up on ya. I just put Abbie to bed."

"Checkin up on me? I'm supposed to be the one checking up on you, yea?"

"Yea, okay." She relented. "Well, I just didn't want the phone to wakeup Abbie. "

"Right.'

The short pause must have prompted concern. He took a breath. "You okay?"

She blinked, watching the tree sway in the wind, blocking out the full moon. "Uh, yea. Yea. It was just … It was a weird day. What's this about the girl found …Washed up on shore?"

"Oh that." He sighed. "It's isolated, no worries. One of those surfers. It was either a relative, or friend."

She nodded. Why, she wasn't sure. He couldn't see her bobbing her head up-and-down no more than he could her hand gesturing, yet, she still did so, regardless. "It's okay. I just … Abbie and I were at the beach earlier. I went to throw the trash away, and overheard some kids talkin about it. Then I went back to Abbie and … This …. Weird guy was sitting down talking to her. "

"Weird guy?"

A flash of twinkling eyes and fine lines curled around a glowing boyish grin flicked through her mind. _Yea, total weirdo._ She stuck one hand behind her head. "Yea. Yea …It's …It's okay. He was strange, but, we left."

"Uhhuh. " He responded a little protectively and then chuckled a little . "Well, can't be any weirder than the one I work with."

She laughed. "Yea ...What was that? Yesterday he was lining up pencils on your bosses desk?"

"Yeah, "He let out another half-laugh. "Somethin like that. Anyway, we're probably gonna go eat tomorrow after work, you wanna come along?"

"I dunno, is the pencil fetish guy gonna be there?"

She could hear the amusement in his voice. "Yea, he might."

"Mmm … I've got a lot of tests to grade. And then, I'd have to bring Abbie with me."

"Well, that's what I meant." He laughed. "You and Abbie. Just come out and eat with us. It's that place, the seafood place. Look, it's not a 'work' thing, we're just goin for a bite. "

"That seafood place." She nodded again. "Yea, okay, I'll think about it."

She threw her legs from the arm of the overstuffed chair and rose, setting the phone on the coffee table. The wind had picked up a little, as it tossed leaves against the window. Corin made her way to the door, checked the lock's, then the windows. She checked the back door last and then she turned the light out.

She poked her head in and watched Abbie sleeping for a few minutes. She was on her side, grasping a black and white penguin she'd named Elvis. She was safe and warm in her bed, sleeping peacefully. It was the way it should be.

Corin slipped quietly into her own room, leaving the door cracked a little, and crawled under her own covers.

_Mom?" _Her eyes popped open. She was sitting up straight in bed, Abbie standing at the foot, eying her curiously. "Are you okay?"

She looked at the clock, 5am. "Yea, baby. " Then she held her arms out. "Come on."

Abbie crawled across the comforter, and then slid under it, into her mothers embrace. "You said somethin and then you just sat up."

"Yea?" She answered, kissing her on the head "Oh, I was probably just dreaming. Everybody has dreams."

Abbie nodded and then they dozed off for a couple of hours.

Today was just as beautiful as the day before, with the same welcomed breeze blowing. It hardly seemed like a day to have to work. But she managed to get herself and Abbie through the door, Abbie to school and herself to work.

"Okay, next week, we'll be getting into the Impressionist Movement. So, before you turn in your tests, I'll throw you a bone. If you can tell me who said "I am trying to do 'something different' – in a way realities – what the imbeciles call 'impressionism' is a term which is as poorly used as possible, particularly by art critics." I'll reward you appropriately with some extra credit, and looking at some of your grades, you'll need it."

Everyone laughed as they scribbled their answers and one by one dropped their tests by her desk. She took each of them while nodding and telling them to have a nice weekend.

It was after three and she was running late picking up Abigail. She was gathering her things when her phone buzzed. She grappled with it in her pocket until she'd gotten it to her ear."Yea."

"Hey. I'm pretty close to Abbie, ya want me to pick her up for ya and we'll meet you there?"

"Great timing, yes, thanks. "

She was stopped by a couple of professors and by four she was on her way. She was touching up her makeup at an intersection just off of the interstate when she noticed it. A small white card nestled between the wind-shield wiper and the car. How had she missed it before?

Her hand froze over her mouth as the blood rushed to her face. It was not what she'd wanted to see, not what she'd hoped to see ever again. She jumped in her seat when the horn blew behind her. The next thing she knew, her foot had slipped from the break to the gas and she shot off like a rocket through the intersection.

"Oh God!" She blurted, holding onto the wheel and slowing the car. She screeched into the parking lot, and quickly haulted inside an empty space. She sat there a minute, breathing in and out, staring out straight. Then she loosened her white knuckled grasp from the wheel, opened the door and stared at the white card. She glanced around briefly, taking it in her hand, fearing that her face was turning pale. Then she drew a long breath, while straightening herself. God only knew who, if anyone, had witnessed the event. Her skidding into the lot like a mad woman, and then gawping white-faced at the card left on her windshield. She toussled her hair a little, smoothed her top, and then made her way to the entrance.

He was standing by the door when he noticed the car skidding into the lot. He raised his eyes and recognized the golden-haired brunette immediatly. She'd evacuated the car rather promptly, turned and hovered over the windsheild. He watched her regain her composure as she slipped something into her purse and then made her way to the entrance.

Her mouth dropped open when she saw him. "What the…?"

"Hello Corin, you clean up very well."

"What? You …What are you doing here?"

She was staring at him the way an animal looks at a potential threat. Attempting to appear strong and defensive. At least it seemed that way to him. He tried to disarm her with a crooked smile."Well, I'm here for dinner. They do serve dinner here right?"

He noted the way she held the purse closely to her side. She flicked her eyes across his face, and took a step backwards.

"Corin." She fought to hide the start when Wayne called her. She turned and found he and Abbie standing there. She smiled. "Hey."

He had a slight look of worry on his face. "Are you okay?"

"What?" She tried to hide her stammering."Yea, I'm fine. Why?"

She knew very well why. Her face was warm and flushed, she couldn't hide it. But she tried to shrug it off by playing oblivious, hoping he'd change the subject. Then he sighed. "Alright ... Well , Corin, this is Jane. He's been working with us at the CBI."

The CBI was the short version of The California Bureau of Investigation. Wayne loved the job, and being a man with a high sense of justice - right and wrong - it fit his temperament, as well as his personality, quite well.

"Already had the pleasure." Patrick responded. "Abbie let me use her sand bucket yesterday."

"Yea Uncle Wayne, he made a huge castle, like Cinderella!" Abbie added.

"Yesterday?" Wayne answered, with a puzzled expression. Then his mouth formed an 'O' as he stuck a finger out at Jane. "Wait … This is the weird guy?"

"The weird guy?" Jane interrupted.

Corin shook her head, things like this could only happen to her. "Yep …This is the weird guy."

Wayne laughed. "I shoulda known."

"Wait, " Corin put a finger over her mouth as she thought about it. "So, this is pencil fetish guy?"

Jane's mouth dropped a little."Pencil fetish?"

Wayne shook his head too. "Yep …This is the weird guy."

She and Wayne turned to the door, Abbie between them. Patrick trailed after them. "The Weird guy?"

Grace and Teresa were already at the table, the four joined them. Wayne pulled out a chair for his sister and then sat next to Grace."Where's Cho?"

"Dunno. He said he'd be late." She turned to Corin. "Hi, I'm Teresa and this is Grace."

"Oh … yea …" Wayne stammered awkwardly. "Um, this is Corin and Abbie, everyone."

Theresa was a bit stoic, with pale, luminescent skin and dark, straight, shoulder length hair, swept to the side. Her squared jaw was defined by high cheek bones, and a small but defined chin. There was a hint of femininity showing through her masculine features. Grace, was just the opposite, with a beautiful, but understated diamond shaped face accompanied by elegantly arched eyebrows and straight dark-red hair that she wore in a long braid over her shoulder. Corin could see why her brother was so taken with her.

"Mr. Patrick? " Abbie and Patrick had been exchanging glances during the conversation. He was smiling at her and she was fighting a huge grin. She tilted her head playfully. "You're not weird."

Wayne stifled an outright laugh, while his other two coworkers smiled. Patrick kept a steady sparkling gaze on Abbie. "Thank you Abbie. "

"So, Corin." Grace continued while they waited for their orders. "Have you been settling in okay?"

Corin picked at a piece of table bread. "Yea. It's okay. I mean, it's been a couple of months already."

"Wayne said you teach music?"

"Umhum." She nodded, taking a drink of water. "Music theory..."

"A pianist." Patrick thoughtfully interjected.

"Yep. She's good too!"

He noted the way Corin eyed him, ignoring her daughters contribution. The questioning was all over her face, but she wasn't going to humor him. The corners of his mouth turned up and he answered as if she'd asked. "It's your posture, of course. The way you sit up straight, elbows to your sides. Long and slender fingers, carefully preened nails. Not too long."

Grace was smiling impressively. Everyone else waited, while the conversation transpired. True that there was a part of Corin that might have been intrigued by his spot on observation, but it was at odds with the other side that thought maybe smacking him might make her feel better. She choked back the first snarky response that popped into her head and then confirmed his guess rather curtly. "Yes ... I play piano."

"She's being modest." Wayne piped up. "She was one of the best in her class. She was supposed to tour, but she's teaching instead. "

If the table was a stage, the people around it were the spotlights, focused on her, capable of exposing every detail. This is why she wasn't very keen on going out in the first place. A group of people, especially coworkers, on a social event was breeding ground for all sorts of nonsense. In a desperate rush of self-preservation, she set out to place the instigator of this intrusive conversation in the hot-seat.

She settled a straight forward gaze into Jane's bright-blue eyes. " I'm sorry the wife couldn't join us tonight."

She could not have predicted the air of tension that had swiftly blown through them. Jane sat straight, wearing a hint of quiet regret in his expression. The moment was brief, but it was clear that she had finally succeeded in touching upon a nerve. One that didn't seem quite as entertaining as she thought it might be. He blinked, and then smiled impishly at the child. "Abbie, have you ever seen Mexican Jumping toothpicks?"

Abbie shook her head slowly as she watched with building interest, Patrick securing two tooth picks, crisscrossing each other in his palm. The rippling movement was slow at first, hardly detectable, until one tooth pick seemed to leap off of the other, and then randomly jump up and down like a rubber ball on cement. Eyes wide, and glowing with amazement, Abbie could hardly control her enthusiasm. "How'd you do that?"

Corin abruptly reached across the table and drew a pair of tooth picks of her own. She knew this trick. "I'll show you. I learned this at Girl scout camp." She carefully placed one toothpick between her thumb and index finger and then she set the second toothpick upright in the palm of her other hand while resting the end of it on the first toothpick. All she needed to do was to rub across the first toothpick with her middle fingernail and the vibrations would cause the toothpick to dance around like magic.

She hesitated when she realized that everyone at the table was staring at her. She'd so purposefully nabbed the toothpicks from their holder, so knowingly positioned them. They were all waiting for her to make them jump, just as Jane had. He was watching her too. She blinked, moved her hand a little, and then catching a glimpse of Abbie staring up at her, she smiled weakly. For the childlike wonder of her daughter, she could subdue the urge to upset Jane's ego a bit. "Well, I … I thought I had this one … But I guess not."

"Do it again Mr. Patrick!" Abbie pleaded with big brown eyes.

Patrick eyed Corin, and then he leaned forwards. "Those aren't Mexican Jumping toothpicks, you know. But we can turn them into a pair, do you want me to show you?"

Abigail looked at Corin until Corin bobbed her head."Fine. Go ahead."

They whispered for a few minutes, followed by a giggle from Abbie, and then he nudged her forward. "Go on."

Abbie returned to her mother, smiling mischievously. She placed the toothpicks in her hands the way Corin had and then grinned when the one bounced about on top of the other. Everyone clapped, praising Abbie for doing such amazing trick. Patrick was leaning on his elbow, smiling with his eyes while Abbie glowed. For now it didn't matter if he knew how to get under her skin. Her daughter felt special for a moment, and she couldn't argue with that.

They were dispelling into the parking lot, Corin had already said goodnight to Wayne. She was loading Abbie into the car when Patrick joined her. She looked up, brows drawn in. "Mexican Jumping toothpicks, very nice. Although, I hope you aren't under the impression that you can woo the mother through the daughter."

He laughed. "You think I was wooing you?"

Corin shrugged. He rolled his eyes as if to say whatever. "Well, anyway. Back there, on the beach."

"Uhhuh."

"I was on a case."

"A case."

"Meaning …I wasn't intending on stealing Abbie's thunder."

She folded her arms and smirked. "A case. So, you consider constructing condominiums in the sand as you working on a case."

He rubbed his chin while chuckling lightly. "Well, perhaps my methods could seem a little unorthodox to some people."

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. "A sailor."

"Huh?"

"I wanted to be a sailor."

He backed up some when she made her way to the drivers side, while squinting a little. "A sailor? Really?"

She smiled. "Yea, really."

"Interesting."

She opened the drivers side and slid into the seat. "Goodnight Mr. Jane."

He watched her start the car, and pull out of the parking space, Abbie discreetly waving goodbye at him from the back seat.

"Please." He waved back, murmuring out loud. "Call me Patrick."


	2. Red Handkerchief

**Chapter 2 - Red Handkerchief**

He remembered high school, though he didn't much care for it. He'd gained most of his enjoyment from challenging his teachers, and baffling his fellow students with his uncanny power of observation. which he easily passed off as magic. People are predictable, one only needs to pay attention to see it. But, most are too preoccupied inwardly, too focused on themselves to notice the things in plain sight, sometimes so close that it's near tangible.

He paused in front of the door, listening to a barely audible melody leaking out from inside. The length of the short hallway was visible from the small glass window, an empty hallway with a linoleum floor, the walls lined with various pictures of artists and musicians from past to contemporary. He wrapped his fingers around the long, silver handle and swung the door open, but he'd already heard it faintly, and now clearer. Full, rich notes flowing through the spatially challenged passageway in a musical stream, bringing with it a sense of calm, there inside, where outside people were buzzing through their hectic day. Teenagers running to class, or teachers hustling for a quick cigarette break.

He paused again, for a moment, closing his eyes and taking in the masterful sound, the fingers touching the keys in a subdued elegance. He knew the piece, one that drifted from thoughtful to dissident in a sweet three to four minutes depending. A pensive, dreamy tune both cheerful and melancholy mixed together.

Then he moved deeper, into the room itself. Her back was to him, poised, as she would have been taught, upon the piano bench, fingers curved over the keys, her body swaying in towards the piano as if she were a mere extension of it. But, it wasn't all rigid technique, and playing the right notes. She was gliding over the keys as effortlessly as a swan over water. It was obvious that whatever she found too difficult to say verbally, she expressed it easily through music. He listened to the finish, one floating chord and then a slow trickle of various notes that held the piece achingly open ended. What remained was an air of calm too beautiful to disturb with applause.

She raised her head, smiled and then rotated around until she was looking at him. "Why, Mr. Jane … Are you my new stalker?"

He considered the door she'd just unintentionally opened with her telltale dialog, but responded with a less intimidating observation. "Let us at all costs preserve this magic peculiar to music, since of all the arts it is most susceptible to magic. A daydream, that's what it translates to in simple terms, right? The perfect score for someone who feels the need to escape every now and then. Your brother was telling the truth. You _were_ being modest. In fact, you've surpassed my expectation. "

He was wearing only a pale blue button down shirt, and dress pants when she met him on the beach, and at dinner, she'd been too distracted to notice. But now, after brief consideration, she realized the contradiction he was.

His voice carried a certain politeness, and that along with the simple shirt tucked under a grey vest, he was reminiscent of something from an old movie. One of those movies where men were still gentlemen and women were still ladies. Where chivalry didn't only exist, it was demanded.

Yet, side by side with his old school charm was a man capable of blending into the modern day. He was able to quote Debussy and in the same breath say "Dude." Once she'd noticed it, she found it all the more unsettling.

"Reverie. I was playing it by ear when I was ten. I missed a few notes." She almost smiled while shaking her head and rose from the bench. "You're familiar with Debussy, I assume."

"Very. I believe Jules Massenet called him an enigma. Debussy was criticized by some because he didn't care much for the rules. The … Expectations placed upon the art of music in his time. How's this for symbolism … A brilliant, young pianist who could have had a professional career, but was found teaching children from eighteen eighty to eighteen eighty-two. How do you think that happened?"

She swallowed the tension in her throat as she turned to lower the lid on the solid oak piano behind her. Her face was somewhat relaxed when she turned back. "You really shouldn't have expectations, Mr. Jane. It saves you a load of disappointment. Why are you here?"

She was rather attractive, hair, a golden coffee, secured in the back by a clip, her eyes two entrancing pools of silver lined with dark eyelashes. And she smelled nice. She seemed somewhat calmer today, but that could have been the absence of her daughter. She didn't need to be the mother cat, standing between Abbie and the perceived predator. Still, it was obvious that the iron walls were not coming down easily.

"We're still investigating the case. " He answered straightforwardly.

"Oh." She said with the slightest flippancy in her tone. "The one you were investigating while you were playing in the sand Thursday?"

His smile emphasized the natural blush in his ruddy complexion. "Yes, that would be the one."

"I think that's the same one Wayne told me about." She rattled on, gathering papers and books into her leather satchel. "The girl found washed up on the beach. Wayne said it was pretty much solved. "

She stood erect again, arms folded as she stared at him. "All the same, your investigation led you to the piano room of the music building?"

'Oooh," He chuckled. "You meant this building in particular? "

Now she wanted to scream. Of course that's what she meant! Why should she care if he was somewhere outside, wandering school grounds, bothering someone else? She relaxed her jaw once she realized she was gnawing the inside of her cheek.

"Actually, " He smiled, feigning innocence of the aggravation he was intentionally triggering. "I thought while I was here, I'd bring you this."

She eyed him standing there. He'd been fondling a small box, that wasn't particularly secured by anything. She'd been ignoring it, initially considering it fairly insignificant. But as he spoke, he lifted it a little, as if to invite her to take it from him. He didn't move towards her, but waited, to see if she would come to him.

When she hesitated, obviously a bit doubtful of his purpose, he sighed. "It's not gonna bite you. Neither will I, for that matter."

She stepped forwards, scowling a little, and then reached for the box. It was surprisingly light. Whatever was inside was catching a bit of light from above, reflecting back in tiny twinkles. She folded back a flap of cardboard, exposing a smooth glass bottle.

She glanced up, catching a glimpse of him watching her, and then she slipped her fingers around the bottle, lifting it from the box. He observed, with satisfaction, her expression softening when she realized what the glass bottle held so skillfully constructed inside. A small boat, carefully assembled with toothpicks that were stained a dark brown.

He caught the cardboard when it slipped from her fingers, her hands favoring the glass bottle. She raised it up, delicately turning it from side to side, peering into it amorously.

"This is …I. " She tipped her lashes over the bottle at him. "Did you make this?"

"Well, not the bottle or the toothpicks, but yes, I made the boat. "

She'd returned her attention to the small wonder when he added. "Do you like it?"

Her mouth twitched as if she wanted to smile, but couldn't bring herself to just yet. "I …um. It's impressive. "

The type of response he was after. While she was distracted by his unexpected act of thoughtfulness, he cleverly probed her for information. "A sailor. I must say, I didn't expect that. What's your middle name?"

"Patricia." She answered absentmindedly, nearly forgetting who she was talking to.

"Corin Patricia Rigsby. A very nice name, it flows well. And if you were a boy, it would have been Corin Patrick, right? "

This snapped her attention to his concentrated gaze on her, refraining from a response. He took it as confirmation, shifting his jaw in thought. "A sailor, now, why would a little girl want to be a sailor?"

He thought a little more and then noted. "You're the oldest and the only daughter, aren't you?"

He waved a finger in the air, bringing on a renewed agitation churning ever so painfully in her gut. He was sniffing her out like a bloodhound deciphering a trail. "That's it. You were a girl, but you weren't supposed to be a girl, were you? Did they just simply prefer a boy? Or was it that they were actually told you were a boy and then surprise, you were a girl? "

No response, as her eyes started to turn red-rimmed.

"So you chose a sailor because it seemed like something a boy would like, as opposed to say … A mermaid. The piano became attractive when you realized you could express everything you couldn't say out loud through music. But you couldn't play it at home, because that was not something boys did. You don't want to call me by my name because it reminds you of having to live with the fact that your parents never quite accepted you the same way they did your brother."

By now, she was glaring at him so forcefully that it appeared as though flaming arrows would shoot from her eyes. Her face grew contorted as a fitful anger spewed out of her in random vowels and a brief word or two until she was able to form something of a sentence. But he saw affirmation in her eyes, betraying the defensive wall she fought to hold rigidly between her and anyone who dare invade her private thoughts. Deep emotion that he couldn't have brought on had it not already been there.

"Who do you think …You …You know … You …" She pressed her lips together, repressing the words that really wanted to escape. "You irk me!"

"What?"

"You're irksome!"

His head went back, the way it would if she'd hit him for real. "Irkesome?"

"Yes! You waltz in here with your cheesy little gift, spouting Debussy, and then presuming to know me! You don't know me … You don't know anything! Yes, you're extremely irksome!! You …"

Then her voice simply broke off, in mid-sentence, as she tilted her head, brows drawn into contemplative concentration. Her lips pursed, while her eyes traced his features, examining every detail as if committing it to memory. He witnessed the strange transformation with renewed perplexity that didn't register in his expression at all.

Her eyes flicked over his face, then rested into his own crystal blue, completely absorbed in wherever her mind had taken her. She was drawing a slow breath of air when shattering glass broke the trance. She gasped, simultaneously stepping back and gawping at the mix of broken glass and toothpicks clustered disproportionately on the floor. The bottle had slipped from her hands, undetected, until it was too late to prevent it from impaling itself upon the cold linoleum. She was undone.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She stammered, scrambling for the broom and dustpan. "I really am."

"It's alright." He assured, trailing behind her, hoping to get to the broom first. "It's just glass and toothpicks …With a little glue."

She'd retrieved the broom, handling it rather nervously. "Yes, but that must have taken hours and I destroyed it in less than a minute."

"Give me that." He said, reaching for the broom.

"No, it's my mess. I can clean it up." She retorted, staggering over to the chaos on the floor.

He listened to her sensing that she wasn't just being apologetic over being clumsy. There was something else going on, but he couldn't quite put it together yet. So, he disregarded his sense of chivalry, however minor it was at the moment, and allowed her the indulgence of being flustered and insistant upon cleaning the broken glass herself.

He stood over her while she knelt down, frantically sweeping the fragments into the dustpan, until she whimpered softly, recoiling her hand. This time he was much more persistent as he squatted down beside her, noting the drop of crimson staining the remaining glass. "Let me see."

He wasn't taking no for an answer, as he took her hand in his, examining the cut until he was confident that she had not suffered a major injury. "It's kinda deep." He yanked a handkercheif from his pocket. "Just put a little pressure on it, like this, and I'll finish cleaning this up."

"Corin? God, what happened?" Wayne had also thought to visit his sister before pulling out and returning to the office. He glimpsed her kneeling, coddling her hand and was by her side in a matter of seconds.

"I'm fine." She insisted. I just …Cut my finger. It's nothing."

"Are you sure? Maybe you need stitches or something. We should take you to the doctor."

"Wayne." She said sharply. Her tone was harsher than she intended, but she saw the way Jane was looking at her. She had to get out before he could see anymore, before she said too much. "I'm fine. I'll go by the nurse if it'll make you feel better."

Wayne cast a questioning glance Jane's way. "What'd you do to her?"

"Nothing." She snapped. "He didn't do anything, okay? I was just …it was a simple accident. Let it go. I'm perfectly fine."

"It's minor." Jane confirmed. "Nothing a little antibiotic oitment and a bandaide can't fix."

Jane focused his attention to Corin, who was back on her feet now, and trying to subtly avoid direct eye contact with him. "Do you have a first aid kit around here somewhere?"

She ignored him, making a dash to the leather satchel still perched atop the piano bench during their exchange. "I don't have time for this. I've got to go pick up Abbie, I can't be late. I'll take care of it when I get home."

She turned to her brother, and exchanged a quick peck on the cheek, hoping to smooth over the tension caused by her erratic behavior. "I'm fine. Really."

Both men watched her leave, confident that something wasn't right, and neither knowing exactly what the not right was about. Wayne whipped his head around. "What'd you say to her? Huh?"

"We talked about Debussy." Patrick answered unpretentiously.

"De who?" Wayne shook his head. "Whatever. Listen, make all your jokes about me and whatever I do or don't think about Grace. But just, lay off my sister … Please."

Patrick stared casually at Wayne, unaffected by the protective brother role he'd taken on. "Why? "

Wayne wiped a hand across his face. "Don't ask, okay? "

A few seconds passed and then Wayne continued. "Look, you have no idea what it took to get her to move back here. I'm not gonna let you spook her into leaving again."

"Spook her?" Now his interest was fully peaked.

"Oh no. No, I'm not gettin into this with you, man. So, you can save your mental crap, or whatever it is you do that gets people to tell you anything you wanna know."

Jane leaned back, entwining his arms across his chest, and propping one foot over the other, holding a relaxed gaze over Wayne until he was shaking his head."It was one guy. One guy and he screwed up her whole life."

"What guy?"

He cocked his head, and then Jane looked at him as if to say - _well, you already started it, too late for holding back now. _He rolled his eyes, his cheeks puffed out before he released air. "She never told me. It's because I would've kicked his ass. She thinks I blame her, but I don't. You know how college guys are. Hell, guys period! The first creep that comes along takes off when he gets her pregnant. I didn't even know until about seven months in! "

"Really?"

Wayne glanced at his feet, his head moving back and forth. "She was scared to say anything. Afraid of what I'd think, me and pop. Getting herself pregnant by some asswipe, him running out on her. And she figured, knowing me, I'd go after the bastard. "

"I see." Jane nodded attentively.

"No, you don't." Wayne differed. "She left college because she thought it was better for Abbie. She was bouncin around from place to place until I convinced her to come here. I helped her find the house. I told her about the job at the school. If you keep messin with her, invadin her space, she's gonna take off again."

Jane straightened himself, tilting his head in consideration, and then bobbed his head. "I understand."

"Don't worry." He patted Wayne on the shoulder, passing him for the door. "Corin and Abbie aren't going anywhere."

Corin had made way for the car as fast as possible, relieved when she'd shut the door, closing herself inside. She stared through the window a moment, and then started the engine. She had to make it out of the parking lot. She was still thinking this ten minutes later when her head was propped over the steering wheel and she was sobbing inconsolably.

After the crying subsided, she threw a glance at her blotchy reflection in the mirror, thinking how pathetic she looked. She couldn't let Abbie see her like this. She couldn't let anyone find her like this, least of all Jane … He'd seen too much already.

She cleaned her face with a moistened wipe and was only three minutes late to pick up Abbie. They passed by a Chinese drive through on the way home, and Abbie had no problem expressing her opinion about it. She stared at her mother unapprovingly.

"We're eating out again? Mom …"

Corin smiled to herself, finding humor in the fact that it was that the daughter reminding the mother that this was their third night of take out. They pulled from the window with Abbie insisting that she was making sure they ate something cooked in their own kitchen tomorrow.

They cleaned up the table after dinner, and then Abbie took her bath, as she did every evening. Corin helped her with homework until it was Abbie's bedtime. Abbie crawled under the sheets. Corin covered her with the comforter, thinking of when they'd picked it out together. Abbie was drawn to it instantly. A collage of pink, green and blue, the bottom was hedged with a line of horses, embroidered hues appropriate for the color scheme. The set was accompanied by two pillow shams that bore one matching horse each, prancing in front of a pink background.

Abbie was thrilled. Corin was thrilled as well, that it was reversible and had a more workable design on the other side. Regardless, she couldn't deny her, knowing how much Abbie loved horses.

She kissed Abbie on the head, sang a little to her and then flipped off the lamp when she'd drifted off to sleep. She flipped back a strand of hair from her eyes, and then she left the room.

Late evening found Corin sipping on her third cup of coffee. Dark roast, just as she preferred it, with a tap of heavy cream and two teaspoonfuls of sugar in the raw. Even with the additives, it was nice and strong, with a deep richness that she had the palette for.

She was curled up on the couch, when her eyes strayed to the balled up handkerchief resting on the coffee table. She reached for it, letting it fall open, revealing the dark red that tainted the pure white clothe. She heard the glass shattering again, and then glanced towards the video rack.

She'd replaced most of her movies with dvd's, but she'd kept the majority of video tapes composed of footage she wouldn't find anywhere on the market. Some were of old shows, but most were home videos she'd taken of Abbie. Head throbbing from the constant replay of her discourse with Jane in the music building, she went for the rack, targeting one tape in particular.

She held it in her hands, arguing with herself over popping it in, or putting it back where she'd retrieved it. She went for the first option, fitting the tape in the slot and pushing it in place. She returned to the couch, securing the remote in her hand. She pressed play.

The show was as she remembered. It introed with a dramatic flair, assuring promises that would allure anyone who would be stupid enough to believe such drivel. Then the camera focused on the stage, and there he was, blond curls, twinkling eyes and a huge enigmatic smile to seal the deal.

There in the dark, the glow of the television washed over her, and she felt the chill again, running through her body and popping out of her skin in a sprinkle of goosebumps as the show was interupted for a news report. His wife and child were found slain in their home, killed by the notorious serial killer Red John. The news alert was accompanied by a panel debating on whether or not this was in direct response to his recent efforts to profile the killer on the show. Either way, it was a disturbing tragedy.

Corin shut it off, unable to tolerate watching it any longer. Her own voice echoed inside her head. _"Do you wear that ring because you're married, or because you want women to think you're married?" " I'm sorry the wife couldn't join us tonight."_

_S_he'd apologized to him, but he hadn't realized the magnitude of the sentiment. She didn't know why she hadn't noticed before, either on the beach or at the restaurant. But today, when she was on her tirade, she'd looked into his eyes and then a switch went off in her head. She'd been haggling this poor man about wearing the wedding ring. The ring that was probably a constant reminder of the horror that had touched his life some five years earlier.

This wasn't the only thing going through her mind. There was something else, something she'd tried to erase from her memory, but still found it's way back in the dead of night, when she couldn't sleep. Something that made her want to hold her daughter close.

_**"Mom! Mommy!!"**_

Her eyes popped open to find herself standing upright in the middle of the living room floor, Abbie yelling at her. She blinked, trying to clear the fog from her head and reorient herself. _What had happened?_

'I …" She murmered uneasily. "What's going on?"

Abbie leaped at her, flinging her arms around her waist and crying into her stomach. She lowered herself down, holding Abby. "It's okay baby. it's okay."

"You scared me." She murmured freely.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

"I woke up because you were yelling. You were standing up, yelling."

"I was?"

Abbie sat back on the couch, folding one leg under the other and nodded a yes. This scared Corin too, but she tried to comfort her daughter while attempting to figure out what had happened to her. "What did I say?"

"It wasn't words. It was a scream. "

"A scream?"

"Were you dreaming again?"

Corin pulled her into her arms, propping her chin on her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Yes baby. I think I was dreaming again."

* * *

**A/N - **_Surprise! My mentalist muse was kicking into overdrive, it was out of my hands. Just to give you all the heads-up, if you read the first chapter before the 10th, you might want to glance over it again. I changed the title to Red Sandcastles, and I edited it a little on the 9th, adding in a few sentences ( a couple of paragraphs) here and there to make it flow better between conversations and the like. Thank you so much Evelyn Rose, Late March and idelcrush for your reviews, as well as putting me on alert and favorites! It makes me happy and encourages me to write more! Also thank you to Kai3anime and masqueradewitch for putting me on alert, yay! Next chapter, look for Patrick to get something outrageous for Abbie. Something that sends Corin through the roof! Well, he wants to share the wealth, huh? *smile* Review, please. I typically respond to each one personally!_

_**Author Alert: I have created both a c2 and a fanforum, here at fanfiction, for the show. Obviously I have only one fanfic in the c2, but I will add anymore that might popup. I'm considering creating another fanforum somewhere on the web to give people an option other than Cbs's forum.**_

_**PLEASE feel free to join either of these - I'll keep you updated on whether or not I start an outside forum. Thanks!!  
**_


	3. Red Rider

**Chapter 3 - Red Rider**

It was seven-thirty in the morning when Wayne Rigsby received the call. He'd just settled in at his desk, chugging his first cup of java, watching Jane taunt Lisbon with another one of his pranks, and then the ring-tone went off.

Jane turned his head, sporting a jovial glint in his eye. "Ah, the morning after courtesy call is it?"

Rigsby flicked a quick glance at Van Pelt, then back at Jane before taking the call. "Bite me …" Then he spoke into the phone. "Yea, what's up?"

Instantly, his face contorted into expressions that said he was regretting not letting it go to voice mail, and then for the next short minutes he couldn't get a word in edgewise over the ranting voice on the other end. He paced around his desk, hand on hip, then over his head as he spurted a series of half words. "Wha? Yea ..Wha? " Then he drew a large breath, glared at Jane and sighed. "Okay, just …Calm down ….I'm on my way. Yes, I'll bring him."

Kendal Cho had entered during the progression of the scene, adding to the eyeballs staring at Rigsby, when he clicked the phone shut. He shifted his jaw, shook his head and then blew out air, all the while eying Jane with a disgusted look. "What the hell did you do now? "

Rigsby observed the typical something up his sleeve look Jane had perfected to an art form while smiling a nervous chuckle. It was a dumb question, when the obvious one was not what had he … But what hadn't he done?

'Oh …That was your sister then." Jane smirked a little.

"Uh …Yeah." Rigsby confirmed sarcastically.

"Corin? Really? " Cho inserted, straightening himself with a peak of interest.

"Yea, really."

Jane cut a side glance over to Cho, tilting his head a bit. "Obviously You haven't met her."

'No …" The Asian man answered warily. "Why?"

"Nothing really. Just make sure you have a chisel handy when you do."

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about." Van Pelt chided. "I thought she was nice. And Abbie is a little cutie."

'Now that, I can agree with." Jane nodded.

Rigsby slipped the phone in his pocket, quickly growing irritated by the topic. He cut a glance to Lisbon. "Are we clear for now?"

"I can give ya a couple of hours. Keep your cell on." She relented, then added. "But, Rigsby …Try to be back in less than two hours."

"Yes Ma'am." He smirked, retrieving his car keys from the drawer and then bobbing his head to Jane. "Let's take a ride."

"Oh, we're visiting Corin?"

Cho took an interested step forwards. "Really? Can I come?"

"No!" Rigsby answered sharply as he rounded the desk, Jane trailing behind him with his hands in his pockets. He arched an eyebrow at Cho and shrugged as if to say _"Sorry." _

"You know what this is about, don't you?" Rigsby prodded as they pulled out of the station.

"Maybe." Jane confessed.

"Great. I ask you not to antagonize my sister, and what do you do …You antagonize her more. What part of _please do not do this _don't you understand?"

"I did not antagonize her." Jane rebuffed.

"No?"

They turned a corner and then they were on the edge of a clean, grassy lawn. Cutting through it was a very undefined path where there could be a driveway if one were so inclined to add it. Set back from the street, hugged by a thin strip of Maple trees, was a cottage-style house, solid blue with cream trimmings around the windows. A little out of place for the area, it seemed perhaps its constructors favored a more laid back, southern style of architecture. The covered front porch flanked with a cream colored wooden railing seemed to support this theory.

'Oh man." Rigsby groaned, stepping out of the car and gawking.

Jane slid from the passenger side, gazing at the small white trailer parked in the grass about halfway between them and the house and tilted his head. "I just … Bought her a gift."

It wasn't difficult to spy Corin. She was arguing with two men until the car pulled up. She turned her head, caught sight of Jane and then she was barreling towards him at full speed. Her mouth moving up and down, but her words unclear until she'd gotten close enough.

"A horse?!" She barked. "Y …You …You bought Abbie a HORSE?!"

She was right in front of them now, nostrils flaring and red-faced, fastly approaching the hyperventilating stage of her rampage. _Livid was far too inadequate of a word. _Jane nodded, but his attention was drawn a small distance away. He was watching Abbie with a reflective smile. She was standing at the end of the trailer, grinning while a friendly dark muzzle sniffed and ran it's lips over her flattened palm.

"Yes." He admitted softly. "I did."

"Oh man." Rigsby groaned again, rolling his eyes.

'Oh." Jane shook himself out of the daze. "But this is wrong. They weren't supposed to bring the horse here."

'No?" Corin echoed angrily.

"Em, No. " He fought back a laugh. "Just the reins. Sort of a tease … If you will."

Her mouth dropped open, with her eyebrows squeezed together forming one single crease above her nose, as the air escaped her tightened throat making a short, hard "H' sound as if her vocal chords had stopped working.

Wayne hadn't seen this expression since the time he'd wrecked her car. He was fourteen and his friends told him he wasn't gutsy enough to do it. It seemed like a good idea at the time - but then most of the bad ideas seem like the best ones at first.

He took a small good-intentioned step towards her. "Um, Corin, just breath. Okay?"

He considered retreating, in favor of putting a good distance between the two of them when she flicked him a fiery scowl, one that said a fist might actually follow it. Her mouth contorted as she fought the urge. _Her hands were balled up all the same._

Patrick had the cell to his ear within seconds, as he made contact with the stables. He gave them all the information they needed and then confirmed the arrangements he'd previously made with them in regards to housing and care. Ignoring Corin_, secretly enjoying the early morning entertainment_, he sauntered up to the two men accompanying the trailer, clearing his throat and slipped them a little money.

"Gentlemen, listen, there's a bit of a misunderstanding here. Sorry for the trouble. Would you mind taking the horse back to the stables? There's a place for him there."

He looked down at Abbie, who was completely lost in the moment. "So, Abbie. You wanna go check out the stables? Get your horse settled in?"

"Yes!" Abbie nodded eagerly, forgetting that she was already late for school.

Patrick wasn't considering it either as he steered her towards the car, Rigsby observing the event unfold, shell shocked and unable to think of anything to say. His gaze eventually worked its way back to Corin who'd appeared to have lost the ability to speak at all.

In fact, she'd seemed to have lost the capacity to resist as well. When Patrick called them she responded, as if she had no control over her compliance, by sliding into the passenger seat, Wayne in the drivers side, Patrick and Abbie in the back. Wayne aimed the car in line behind the trailer, and for the next fifteen minutes or so, Corin was staring blankly at the back end of a horse.

She knew that the two were exchanging words in the back seat, but she could hardly concentrate. The day had started like any other. She'd gotten up first, made the coffee, started scrambling the eggs and was on her way to get Abbie out of bed. She'd heard the trailer pull up in the yard, but unfortunately, Abbie had beaten her to the door. Before she could assess the situation, the two were already getting acquainted, Abbie and the horse.

"Mr. Patrick." Abbie had been staring between the two front seats, watching the horse flick it's tail.

"Yes. " Patrick answered, his lips curving up into a near smile, but not quite.

"Are you psychic? I think you are."

"Wayne!" Corin instinctively flicked her hand across the seat, scowling at Wayne's apparent loss of concentration on the road. He'd tried to stifle a full blown guffaw and in the process succeeded to weave the car over into the other lane only to pull it back in line again.

"Sorry." He said, trying to restore a straight face.

"Nope." Patrick denied unassumingly. "I am definitely not a psychic."

"Then, how did you know what horse I wanted?"

"Through the power of observation. You're pretty observant yourself, aren't you Abbie?"

Abbie thought for a minute, as Wayne turned into the stables, and slowed the car down a few feet away from the trailer. "You saw my book? The one in the car?"

Patrick smiled, exiting the back seat and holding the door open for Abbie, who followed right behind him. "You did didn't you? How did you see it so well in the dark?"

By the book in the car, she'd meant the one she was flipping through the night he'd followed Corin and Abbie to their car. He was bantering back and forth with Corin, trying to break through her stiff, guarded persona when he'd noticed Abbie reach for it.

Specifically what he'd observed was that it was not merely a book with pictures, or a story involving horses. But one written for the more serious minded individual. This book couldn't hold the attention of a person with a flirty interest, but someone who genuinely desired to learn about the care and maintenance of horses.

She had, however, lingered over one section in particular. A clear photo that took up two entire pages. She'd concentrated on it, tracing the outline of its mane and the curve of its back. He knew then what he would do, and he filed the picture away in his memory palace.

He smiled at her, contemplative, blue eyes resting in her brown ones as she stared up at him, waiting for a response. "I just pay attention, Abbie. You pay attention too don't you?"

Their eyes were linked together as if sharing some secret thought expressed through sheer mental power. She didn't need to respond, they'd already established the understanding between them when they'd first met on the beach. It was Corin who hadn't yet been able to lower her defenses long enough for it to register. Her daughter clearly comprehended more than she'd ever been given credit for.

A short, bright-eyed young man, appearing to be in his early twenties, strode towards them. He offered Patrick a hand without hesitancy. "Hello again, Patrick. Sorry for the mix up."

"It's not a problem. The horse seems to have tolerated it just fine."

"Yup. He's a good horse." He agreed, then looked down and smiled. "You must be Abbie."

"Yup." Abbie acknowledged, her eyes dancing with excitement.

'Hi Abbie, I'm Jason. Is this your mom?"

Jason then shifted his attention to Corin, who was finding much difficulty with processing the progression of the whole affair. Jane took the initiative. "Jason, this is Corin and Abbie's Uncle … Rigsby."

"Uh … Wayne." Rigsby corrected. "You can call me Wayne."

"Right. No problem. " Jason returned his focus to the little brunette who seemed to be chomping at her own bit, anxious to get a closer look at the creature being led from the trailer. "Well Abbie, let's get you two acquainted."

This snapped Corin right out of her trance with a renewed sense of dissent. She shook her head and was drawing a breath for a fresh barrage of objections when Jane placed a gentle hand firmly across her back, attempting to steer her a short distance from the immediate area. He didn't argue with her, or offer any kind of counter to her protests. He simply said.

"Corin, walk with me."

His hand was gentle, and his voice soft, but he noted how she'd tried to hide the way she flinched at his touch. He kept his hand there when she resisted, eying her steadily.

"Please."

She eventually relented, allowing him to guide her a few feet past the car, listening to the grass crunch under her feet and feeling like a child about to be scolded. Only, he hadn't said anything for a minute or two, and the air about him was rather gentle, surprisingly sensitive.

He paused, turning to face her, eying her until she started to feel uneasy. He was unraveling her again and it scared her more than anything else ever had. She nearly flinched a second time when he put his hands on her shoulders and rotated her around towards the stables. Standing behind her, he bent over until his head was next to hers. His voice was smooth and dripped a calmness that made her feel a little too exposed.

"Look at your daughter."

Simple words, were it not for the tone and circumstance that warranted them. And though she'd fought him with all the resistance she could muster, she found herself doing just what he'd said, looking at her daughter.

The horse proved itself completely worthy of Abbie's admiration. It was a Morgan, that much Corin knew, given that this horse was the kind Abbie had admired since she'd first taken an interest. He was pale, nearly completely white, with dark charcoal mane, and matching tail that skimmed the ground. His legs were cuffed with the same smoky grey up to his knees. He stood about fourteen hands, with a sleek body and a perfectly curved back that merely served to accentuate the beautiful arch of his long neck.

Abbie was glowing. Jason took the reigns and then placed them in her hands. She stepped up to the horse, rubbing the place between his jawbones confidently, and then followed Jason. The horse submitted without resistance, letting itself be led by her small hands.

Abbie leading a horse by the reigns was not something new, or surprising. Corin had always allowed her to frequent the stables in whatever area they may have found themselves in, but owning one herself was one luxury they could never afford.

Abbie hadn't complained, though. She'd been content with reading her books, visiting websites at the school library or under supervision at home, and with the opportunity to hang out at a nearby stable understanding that she ultimately had to give the horse back at the end of each visit.

As much as Abbie had dreamed and longed for it, a horse of her own was just not possible. And it was obviously not the Pandora's box that Corin wanted opened anytime soon. But, there Abbie was now, strolling across the ground with her dream resting at the whim of her hands. A powerful, graceful animal submitting to the will of a child who was beaming with sheer bliss. It was as if the horse had jumped straight from the pages of her books. There was a spark that had been ignited in Abbie at first site of this horse. A spark that tugged at the very heart of her mother.

_Look at your daughter. _Nothing else need be spoken, no other word breathed could have effected her anymore profoundly, powerfully.

Corin's mouth parted just a little as she blinked, desperately trying to hide the emotion threatening to reveal itself in a pink flush in her cheeks, and moisture in her eyes. She dropped her head, swallowing the lump in her throat and sighed. Then she strode across the ground, trying to subtly wipe a hand across her cheek. But Jane had already noticed it, as well as Wayne.

Abby was giving the horse a treat when Corin reached her. The horse gave a snort and Corin smiled. "So, are you thinking of a name?"

"Well," Abbie tilted her head. "I had one already picked out, but now I'm not so sure."

"That's okay." Corin assured. "There's plenty of time. We've got to get you to school, before you miss it entirely. "

Abbie glanced up as if to ask if that would be such a bad thing. "Do I really have to go?"

"Yes." Corin insisted, admiring the large, expressive eyes gazing intelligently back at her from the stable, behind a flap of charcoal mane. "We can come back when I pick you up, for a little while. But you're going to finish your homework or we won't come back after school anymore. Okay?"

The car was just as silent on the way back to the house, other than the occasional word or two spoken between Patrick and Abbie. Corin exited first, anxious to get out of eye and earshot of Jane. Abbie opened her door, paused and then glanced back at Patrick.

Their eyes linked together in that weird telepathic way and then she was throwing her arms around him, ending the moment with a peck on his cheek. "Thank you Mr. Patrick."

He smiled warmly. "You're welcome Abbie. And please, just call me Patrick."

"Okay Patrick." Abbie grinned, stepping out of the car as Patrick eased out from the back to join Rigsby in the front. She said goodbye to Wayne and then he and Patrick were on their way back to the station.

Wayne shook his head once they were on the road again. Patrick waited, knowing a question or comment was soon to follow. He was right. Wayne was completely baffled by what had just occurred. "How'd you do that?"

"What?"

"Oh don't … don't give me that. I could have never done anything even remotely close to that and gotten away with it."

Jane was slowly nodding his head, as if contemplating and then responded. "For all the love of the art, I'd be willing to gamble that Corin has never owned a piano, am I right?"

"Yea." Rigsby admitted with a look of perplexity.

"Strange, don't you think? Or so it seems, but owning a piano would be difficult for someone who moves around."

"Um, okay."

Jane gave a chuckle as he tapped on the side door. "All I really did was show her a glimpse of what's missing."

"A glimpse of what's missing?"

"Sure. Look, an investment demands some sort of stability, that's how it works. That's why she's never owned a home, a piano or allowed Abbie to have a horse. You pushed her to invest in a home, now I've given her a nudge to invest in some stability for her daughters sake. "

Rigsby bobbed his head with a new understanding. "All that from a horse? Nice, I would've never thought of that."

Jane grinned devilishly as he got out of the car. "I know."

Corin had tried, with minimal success, to hold a conversation with Abbie long enough to drop her at school. But there was nothing that could break the spell that seemed to have been cast over her with the words Jane had spoken close to her ear.

_Look at your daughter. _

She was looking. She'd been looking since the moment Abbie was born. But, today, he'd managed to show her something she'd never seen before. Today, he'd presented a scenario that had crossed her mind so many times before, but was cut short by the grim reality circumstance had brought her to. But yet, it was like dangling water in front of a man who'd been walking in the desert so long, he'd forgotten anything else existed.

Something she ached for, but had never thought she and Abbie could have. Cou_ld they?_

She downed the last swallow of coffee trying to shake off the momentary loss of footing in her self- confidence. She hadn't gotten this far by letting her emotions dominate her. There was a reason for the madness, and she had to remind herself daily. _She knew the consequences if she strayed. _

It was nearly noon now. She'd been home for almost two hours, and was waiting for Grace when her cell rang. "Yes Wayne."

"Um, yea." He stammered. "You're still meeting Grace for lunch today, right?"

She didn't even try to hide her amusement, letting a chuckle escape from her throat. "Yes. She's pulling up now actually. And, no, I'm not gonna plug you, you'll have to figure that out on your own my dear, sweet little brother."

She politely hung up on his sputtering response, and grabbed her purse before heading out the door. Grace was waiting for her, admiring the cleanly pruned shrubs lining the base of the house. Corin thanked her and then they were off.

Grace was wearing jeans and a snug fitting, green button down shirt with quarter length sleeves. The color complimented her tanned skin and dark auborn hair. Corin was a little envious, however, of how the jeans looked as if they were simply painted on her petite, but curvy frame.

They chose an Italian place, located adjacent a nearby country club. They decided to take in the benefit of a bright sun and cool breeze by choosing a table in the courtyard. Northern Italian being her preference, Corin opted for a penne dish accompanied by a warm asagio butter sauce and thin slices of portobello mushrooms. Grace went with a spicy lasagna, served in a lunch portion.

Corin's guilty pleasure, however, was not the pasta at all, but the fresh focaccia bread offered with herbed olive oil specially blended for dipping. She could make a meal out of only this.

"Wayne called me just before you came."

Grace arched her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Mmmhmm." She confirmed, taking pleasure in Grace's expression. "I told him I wouldn't plug him. He'd have to do that himself."

Grace laughed heartily, fully aware of the fact that Corin was indirectly plugging him just by the mere mention of the exchange. Corin noted, however, the subtle blush in Grace's cheeks and started to wonder if maybe the pretty red-head favored him a little more than she'd like to admit.

Grace must have decided to turn the tables, given she shuffled her hips in her chair, and propped her elbows on the edge of the table a bit playfully while wearing a closed lipped, but crafty smile. "Well … What about Patrick?"

"What about him?" Corin put on her best aloof face, not fond of the turn of the conversation.

"Well, don't you think he's interesting?"

"I guess." She wondered if her indifference was overdone. The last thing she wanted was to have Grace buzzing absurdities in Wayne's ear, or worse, Janes. She decided to add a little more to her response. "A bit egotistical though, don't you think?"

"Oh come on …you've got to admit he's easy on the eyes. And he certainly seems to have taken an interest in you."

"What makes you say that?"

"I heard about the horse."

'The horse?" She rolled her eyes. Wow, news traveled fast in the office. But then, Wayne did posses one trait commonly thought to only be possessed by women. He could often gossip with more fervor than any female she'd ever met. "Figures. Yea, he bought Abbie a horse."

"So sweet!" Grace gushed, causing Corin to groan a little under her breath. "He must have used the money he won from the casino."

Corin was aiming a fork full of penne at her mouth, but now her hand, fork, pasta and all was suspended stiffly in the air. "Casino."

"Yeah." The light dismissal in her tone made Corin all the more uncomfortable. Grace apparently took note of it, and added with strong assurance. "It's okay. It was part of a case, but kind of, um … Separate. "

"Separate." She uncontentious lowered the fork into her plate.

"Yea. Really, it's no big deal. He actually bought something for all of us. It was incredibly cute! To be honest, I don't think he kept any of the money at all."

"What'd he buy you?" She couldn't believe it when she heard the words tumbling from her lips. Had her mouth and vocal chords taken on a mind of their own? What did it matter to her what gifts they'd received from him?

"Well, " Grace began, letting the waiter take her plate and nodding at the suggestion of leftovers. "He waltzed into the office with a bag full of goodies. He gave Teresa an emerald necklace and I got a ruby one. Then he gave these outrageously ugly, but expensive watches to Ken and Wayne."

"Jewelry?"

"Yep. I wanted to keep mine, but Teresa gave hers back, and so did I. I think the guys kept theirs." She tilted her head, and then continued as if she'd picked up some unspoken question in Corins head. "I don't know why he didn't get one for you. Maybe he thought it'd be too much with the horse and all."

Corin fought back a laugh, one that strangely seemed to stifle something else. She shook it off. It was ridiculous. The most expensive piece of jewelry she'd ever owned was her class ring from high school and that was fine by her. Expensive jewelry was a waste of money, especially when you had an extra mouth to feed and a mortgage.

The two spent the next couple of hours browsing consignment and vintage clothing stores before parting around three. She picked up Abbie, keeping her promise to drop by the stables and then she loaded her in the car after extending the stay until afternoon had faded into evening.

Abbie was blissfully writing in her diary when they pulled into the yard. They retrieved the child's backpack and made their way to the door. It was Abbie who noticed it first.

"Mom? What's this?"

She'd bent down and scooped up a flat white box, handing it to Corin who stared at it warily. It wasn't ticking and it didn't have any peculiar odors, but still it sent warning sirens in her head that she fought to hide from Abbie.

She took the mysterious package, smiled and then slid her hand in the mailbox as always. "I don't know."

Then she opened the door, nudging the girl inside. She turned, glancing out into the yard and then shut and locked it. "So, did you think of a name?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Abbie grabbed a soda from the fridge. "Apollo."

"Apollo is it?"

"Yup." She echoed, quickly diverting her eyes to the box lying flat on the clean dining room table. "You gonna open that?"

Leave it to her daughter to throw out a name like Apollo, instead of something you'd expect from a kid like shorty, or skip and then change the subject so that you couldn't question her on it. Then the familiar churning started in her stomach. Perhaps she should wait until she'd put Abbie to bed. "You know, I don't know what this is really."

"I know …" Abbie agreed. "So open it already. It's not gonna bite."

Her comment was reminiscent of the words Jane used when he was trying to coax her into accepting the small box where he'd hidden the boat in the bottle. She sighed, somehow, she trusted the instincts of her daughter.

She ran her finger along the crack between the top and bottom, and lifted the lid. A plain sheet of notebook paper was the first thing she encountered. She read it with a certain amount of amusement.

_Oh, and I didn't forget about you. I hope you enjoy it. - Patrick _

"It's from Patrick!" Abbie cheered gleefully. "Move the paper Mom!"

The paper she was referring to was the white tissue the note had rested on before she'd lifted it from the box. She stared at it with a sense of anticipation, that she was both loathing and enjoying at the same time. Then she flipped the paper back and gasped while Abbie's eyes grew wide and danced all over again the way she had at first sight of Apollo.

A necklace and earring set, similar to what Grace had described, was glimmering at her, almost like it was winking under the small chandelier above her head. Soft blue topaz set in white gold, lined with modest diamonds that appeared to flirt with her.

'Mom, your face!" Abbie was no longer looking at the necklace, she was staring, wide eyed and quite pleased at Corins expression.

Corin lay a hand on her cheek, warm from the fresh flush that had reddened them. "Oh. I …Well …Oh Abbie, what am I gonna do with this?"

Strange, but she was looking at her ten year old daughter for answers, how backwards was that? Abbie just stared back with a profound look of wisdom in her eyes. "You're gonna wear it. And don't forget to thank Patrick."

She blinked, kind of bleary-eyed and laughed. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

It was midnight, and the full moon found Patrick wide awake, sipping a coke in his hotel room. He replayed it in his mind and smiled. The stroke of his pen as he scribbled the note, the clean way it lay smoothly over the tissue paper. How he'd placed it gently in front of the door. And then he imagined their faces. He slid his palms under his neck and then let his head fall back, smiling contentedly, and then he closed his eyes.

* * *

**A/N - I had so much fun writing this chapter. I hope you guys have just as much fun reading it! Wow! Thank all of you for your kind reviews! The second chapter got more than what I've had on any single chapter before - I'm stoked! There are a couple of you that are on your way to sniffing out this story and I have to watch out for you before you figure it out! Ha! **

**I****n case you haven't seen it yet, i've finally finished a fanvid I was working on. You can find it on youtube here **

**.com/watch?v=bHooF0VcRRQ**

**I kind of plug a fanforum I'm trying to get off the ground, but what I really hope is that the video helps create a bigger interest in making more fan related creations, you know? This is such a smart show, and the only other one I can compare to i is Eli Stone, which is also cleverly written and thought provoking. Both of these just make me smile incessantly.**

**Thanks again for the awesome reviews! Now, get out there and write some Mentalist fanfic for yourself so I can review it and then add it to the community! XD**


	4. Red Dots

**Chapter 4 - Red Dots  
**

Corin had just picked up Abbie from a shortened day of school. They were jetting to the store to grab a few groceries and then they would swoop by to visit Apollo before Corin dropped Abbie off to a birthday party. _The first slumber party she'd ever given her permission for._

The lot wasn't full, which meant the detour wouldn't last long - she hated grocery shopping anyway. She'd much rather eat out, but Abbie was already well on her way to being very domestically oriented. She was always on her game when it came to making sure there was food in the house.

They were strolling the meat department, looking over the sales, when Abbie knew she couldn't wait any longer. She thought for a moment and then glanced up at Corin.

"Mom?"

"Yes, baby."

"I gotta go."

Corin's eyes strayed from the meat as she focused her attention on Abbie. "Can you hold it?"

Abbie didn't need to respond, Corin already knew the answer. Abbie was never demanding and she didn't ask for things frivolously. She wasn't perfect, needing guidance as any child would, but she had her strong points. Sometimes she seemed more like a small adult in a child's body. She wouldn't have asked if she could have waited until they got home.

"I know where it is." Abbie added, hoping Corin would just let her go on her own. That way the bathroom break wouldn't interfere with the shopping and they would be at the stables sooner. In truth, the time difference really didn't matter all that much.

Corin stared at the two large metal doors leading to the backside of the store. A creepy wide-open space with cold floors and stock boys inside of whom she didn't know. She wasn't letting Abbie go in there alone. "No, I'll go with you."

They left the cart by the door, Corin keeping her purse shoved under her arm, and pushed through the swinging double doors. Boxes were pooled on either side, stacked on top of each other and bound together with thick white chords. The room was oddly quiet, disturbingly so and absent from any movement. _They were the only ones there._

Abbie sensed her mothers wariness through the hesitation she'd displayed as soon as the double doors closed. She shot a quick glance upwards. "It's this way remember?"

'Uh, yes." Corin stammered. "Of course I do."

They inched across the cold floor more hesitantly than Abbie had patience for. She wasn't completely surprised though, having understood early on that while she'd been afraid of the dark for a short time herself, Corin nursed fears of her own.

Abbie slipped her hand in Corin's, and then tugged a little as they moved forwards, until they reached the bathroom door. Abbie shot a look of disapproval at Corin when she seemed to want to follow her in. "You're not going in with me mom."

Corin laughed, hoping to cover the nervousness. "Uh, no. I'll wait for you here. "

She stood by the door as Abbie entered and closed it behind her. Now she was alone, here in this room, cold and uninviting, hearing nothing but the sound of her breath as it went in and out of her. That was until she'd detected another sound. A shuffle that her ears eventually deciphered as a footstep.

Her anxiety wasn't rational, but there it was. Her eyes were all over the room, flitting back and forth, scanning every inch, every corner, her heart speeding up to a fast thump in her chest. She became ultra aware of her surroundings in an instant, completely drawn into the adrenaline rush, pulsing through her veins.

A figure presented itself simultaneously with the click of the door opening. Her body jolted and she'd let out a short yip before she'd been able to stop herself.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you ma'am."

She stared, a bit off kilter at the teen-aged boy. He was probably about sixteen, a bit of an acne problem but he would probably grow unto a strikingly handsome young man.

Abbie was peering at her from the doorway of the bathroom. "Mom? Are you okay?"

Corin shook the moment off with another feigned chortle, waving her hand a little towards the boy. "It's alright. I've probably seen too many horror movies or something."

"Yea, huh." He laughed. "I guess it is a little spooky back here."

They parted, Abbie and Corin returning to the shopping cart that was still waiting for them outside the door. Corin was happy to find it there, undisturbed. She was just as relieved to have emerged from the stockroom. _She hated that place. _

The line wasn't long at all, but they had purchased several things that would not keep in the car. They would need to drop the groceries off before they could advance to the stables.

In spite of the eagerness Abbie displayed by her twiddling thumbs and weight shifting in the seat, Corin drove the speed limit, eventually pulling into the yard. There were three bags. Corin took two and Abbie one.

She gave Abbie the house key and let her open the door, then they both went in. She let Abbie tote her bag across the living room to the kitchen set back in far left of the house, and then she prompted her to carry her backpack to her room while Corin started putting the groceries away. _This was the last thing she said. _

Jane and Lisbon were returning from interviewing a witness when they heard the call. It was Jane who recognized the address. He snatched his cell before Lisbon could figure out why and had Rigsby on the other end in about ten seconds. "Rigsby, get to Corins house now. Something has happened."

"What? What happened?"

"I don't know, but a call was put out for an ambulance to her address."

"What?! Damn!! Ah shit, hang on I got another call…"

Jane stopped for the light and then rounded the corner, making a u-turn and then aimed the car in Corin's direction. Wayne's voice returned. "Jane … It was Abbie on the phone. I don't know what happened, the EMS got there before I could find out."

'I'm on my way." Jane announced. It went without saying that Rigsby was on his.

It was hard to say who was there first, Jane or Rigsby. Both were already driving about, Jane with Lisbon and Rigsby with Cho when they'd received word. Regardless, both cars arrived, and all four were in the house before the EMS exited.

Rigsby caught one of them coming out of the door. 'Hey, hey wait. What's goin on here?"

The man stopped in the door, staring at Rigsby hard and challenging. "Who are you?"

Wayne squinted, growling under his breath. "Son of a Bitch." Then more directly at the man. "Who am I? I'm her brother, that's who I am. " He scowled fiercely, every muscle in his body tensing as he leaned in, making sure to stare directly into his eyes. "Now tell me what the hell happened to my sister!"

"Nothing." Corin's groggy, but irritated voice responded from inside. "I'm fine."

Wayne looked the EMS guy over, snorted and then passed him by, bumping his shoulder in an attempt to get him out of his way, and in an obvious display of superior testosterone.

"Rigsby." Lisbon snapped. "That's enough!"

Jane smiled at the guy. "His sister. You know how guys can get over sisters."

"Uhhuh." The guy responded, continuing his way off of the porch.

The house was nice, a little outdated, but nice. Smooth hardwood floors, spotted with several spatial rugs tossed about here and there. A warm looking, but unlit, fireplace was set in brick on the far back wall of the living room. The master bedroom appeared to be connected to the living room, off to the right, and the kitchen to the back left, along with a small corridor that obviously led somewhere.

Patrick scanned the house with his usual scrutiny, sensing his chance to gather info he wouldn't have otherwise been privy to and found that oddly enough, the place seemed a little like home. Corin was not a meticulous housekeeper, but that only made him feel more comfortable here.

She was arguing with the second EMS guy while lain out on a stretcher, her neck secured with a white brace. It was actually quite humorous to witness in a woman who kept herself so guarded. Jane smiled a little, careful not to do so too much, should Rigsby catch sight of him getting his jollies off of Corin's mishap, or whatever was the cause of this amusing drama.

"She fell." Abbie was standing off to the side, observing the medics and taking note of her uncle, and surveying the small crowd. Patrick eyed her, while Lisbon turned to nod off to Van Pelt who'd just joined the merry band.

Corin groaned, this was not the house warming party she'd ever had in mind - not that she'd considered one in the first place. It was nothing, a little bump on the head. Nothing that called for such theatrics. "I'm fine."

Wayne studied her and then looked up at the medic hovering over her. "What happened?"

"Can't say for certain. Daughter says she was putting up groceries, fainted and was out for a few minutes before she woke up again. She's got a nasty head injury that needs stitches and she may need a CT to rule out anything serious. With her being out for that long, at the least we need to make sure she doesn't have a concussion."

"I'm fine!" Corin groaned again, raising her voice persistently.

"Whatever." Wayne retorted. "I don't wanna hear it. You're goin to the hospital."

They were rolling her through, while she lay there, helplessly out of control of the situation, and it was eating her alive. She caught a glimpse of Grace standing by a short, smooth faced Asian male, laughed sarcastically and said. "You must be Cho."

"Ken." He answered with a funny look on his face. He threw a glance to Jane, who smiled as if to say .. _I told you so. _

The exchanged glances were cut short when Patrick felt a tug at his hand. "Patrick?"

Abbie was looking up at him quite seriously. He answered her, curious as to what the look was all about. "Yes?"

She tugged at him again, in an effort to get him to follow her. He cleared his throat, glanced around and saw that Wayne had tagged along behind the ambulance for the moment. Then he allowed her to lead him to the corridor and into a small, but bright room off to the left. _This was her room._

A stream of memories flooded his brain when he stepped inside. The twin sized bed, draped in pink and green, bordered in prancing horses. The rich mahogany chest set at the foot, on top of a white bushy rug. The bookshelves were filled to capacity with a variety of topics, mainly dealing with animals. She'd lined her stuffed animals on the pillows, one of them - a grey and white Boston terrier - had a bandage wrapped around it's foot.

For a moment he'd heard a voice. A bright, soft voice and he turned his head without realizing it. He stopped his thoughts, knowing that he couldn't let them run away from him. He pushed down the memory, as he'd learned to do so well, and then squatted down to view the small vanity where Abbie kept her hairbrushes and other implements geared for primping. He did notice, however, the absence of dolls.

He turned around, studying the little girl. "I think you're going to make a wonderful veterinarian, Abbie."

"You think so?"

"I do." He assured.

She nodded, her face turning serious as she dropped her eyes a moment before raising them to his again. He didn't care much for the expression at all. A child should never have a reason to display a look such as this.

"Patrick," She murmured hesitantly. "I have to show you something."

Rigsby entered the room ten minutes later, only to perch himself in the doorway and wonder for a moment what conversation could have brought on such a seriousness between the two, Abbie and Patrick. He flicked his eyes between them, but then keeping in mind that his goal was to meet Corin at the hospital, he shrugged it off.

And so the three of them piled into a car, headed to the ER.

Wayne wasn't surprised at all to find that Corin hadn't made very nice with the doctors either. She never liked them, _and that was putting it mildly._ They poke and prod you like livestock and usually it's all for nothing. Doctors often blow smoke in order to convince people they know what they're talking about.

They were all there, Rigsby's coworkers, but it was Patrick who went with him into the room. It was something he couldn't stay away from, even if he'd wanted, at this point. He was putting it together, the mysteries of Corin's strange lifestyle. And the more he understood, the more he realized how much a part of it he really was, how much she was a part of his. Moreso than anyone suspected, aside from perhaps Corin herself.

She was sitting upright on the table, legs dangling over the edge, frowning at the doctor working on the stitches for her head. The wound didn't look so bad after it was cleaned. Corin perked up a bit when she saw Abbie, which was not much of a surprise to anyone.

"There we are." Dr. Reid declared, closing the last stitch and then moving back from the table.

"Well, is she okay?" Wayne urged.

"It's a nice bump, but she's right as rain."

Wayne wasn't completely persuaded, given by the way he was hovering and the unsubsided concern in his voice. "What about that CT thing? Does she need that?"

Dr Reid studied her, pulling the light pen from his top pocket bearing semblance to a Jedi wielding a light saber. He flashed it into her eyes. "How do you feel Corin?"

"I'm fine." She groaned a last time. "I've got a headache, that's all."

"And a headache would be normal after banging your head around though, right doctor?"

Dr Reid looked at Jane the same way everyone did upon first meeting him. A mix of humor and annoyance blended together in one glance. But he agreed nonetheless. "Yes, a headache is normal. Pupils are responding as they should. Corin, you're free to go home. If you'll excuse me, I'll have the nurse bring back a prescription for your headache if you'd like."

Jane watched the good doctor, thinking of how much he hated hospitals. They were cold and smelled of alcohol and menthol. The whiff of stink that often swept by could make you feel like vomiting. _At least that's how he felt. _And doctors often spoke as though they had all the answers, knew all the answers when, more often than not, they were just coming up with something to say so that they would look as if they knew what they were talking about. Aside from that, was all the poking and prodding really necessary?

It wasn't until Corin turned her head under his steady gaze that he decided to show that he'd noticed. He shuffled himself a little with a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Nice earrings."

_Earrings? _She'd not remembered what earrings she had on until she slid her hand up to her neck. The smooth, slick stone was cool under her fingertips. The necklace was too much for wearing on a normal day, but the earrings worked fairly well.

Abbie caught the compliment right away, stared at Corin determinedly and prompted. "Mom.."

Corin stifled the next groan, glancing at Abbie and then tilted her head down a little. Her own daughter betraying her - it wasn't right. Wayne turned his brows in, perplexity written on his face as one corner of Jane's mouth rose. He was enjoying watching her squirm. Jane turned his head sideways. "What?"

Her mouth twitched, as her eyes batted uncontrollably, she was probably turning a certain shade of pink as well. Abbie was clever, if anything. She managed to meet his eyes for a second. "I …" She bit her lip and then tried again. "Abbie said I should … Say thank you."

Hearing her say it amused him to a new level as he raised both eyebrows. He was enjoying it to an extreme until Abbie glanced up at him nudging him to finally release. "You're welcome."

Corin was eager to shrug the moment off, sliding from the table and feet meeting hard floor. Patrick, on the other hand, had hoped the moment could have lingered just a little longer so as to milk it for all the pleasure he could get from it.

Cho, Van Pelt and Lisbon were in the waiting room, something Corin had not expected. One would have thought that given her profession, talent and outspoken nature, she wouldn't mind attention. It was in fact opposite. She hated attention, especially like this. When she played piano, nothing existed but she and the instrument, regardless of who might be there. When she was teaching, she was engulfed in what she loved, unconcerned with whatever attention she attracted. Being fussed over, however, was not enjoyable in the least. It made her feel like she should do something, but she didn't know what.

Grace greeted her warmly, while Lisbon said hello and asked if she was feeling better, but ultimately kept her distance. Cho was not an outspoken man by any means, but it was clear that he understood things more often than he let on. There they all were, the seven of them, standing in a circle and they were all out of words. Grace raised an eyebrow, looking down at Abbie. "Don't you have a party to go to?"

Abbie had considered it a dead issue, thinking that her mothers trip to the ER, among other things, had canceled the party plans. She rolled her eyes upwards, gaging Corin's reaction.

"That's right, you do." Wayne echoed. "What time does it start?"

"Seven." Abbie admitted.

"You know." Corin interjected. "We can talk about this in the car."

Wayne knew the hidden meaning behind the words and wasn't pleased at all. He'd grown a little tired of the way Corin clung to the child. And maybe having Jane around gave him some determination to say things he wouldn't normally say. "Do you have a problem with her going?"

"Well I…" She'd been nervous about it all along, but circumstances had changed and she was wary now of releasing her daughter to strangers. She hated having this drawn out while encircled with spectators.

"Well, I don't see what the problem is." He continued, obviously getting more annoyed by the minute. "The doctor said you're fine, Abbie's fine. It's a kids party for crying out loud Corin, not a frat house."

Patrick was duly impressed with the way Rigsby had snuffed out his sister. There was something suspicious beneath the reluctance, and Wayne was right. It needed to be confronted.

Five pairs of eyeballs were observing the squabble, three of which were becoming more than a little uncomfortable. Abbie was hopeful, Patrick was taking the whole thing in, gathering data and filtering it through his analytical brain. Corin was getting all the more nervous and a bit disturbed by the whole thing. Head lightly throbbing, she eventually gave in. If she didn't, she would have to have a better explanation being that Wayne wasn't taking any of the usual ones. The easier route was to let him have his way, and then he wouldn't ask anymore questions.

Abbie was elated. They picked up the present for her school mate from the house before they dropped her off at the party, and then they drove back to Corins house, to drop her home.

Much to her disliking, they followed her in. She didn't have the strength to resist, so she let them do as they pleased.

"You hungry?" Wayne asked. "I can go pick you up something."

"Oh, no .. no." She objected. "I just bought …"

Her mouth dropped open as she made a dash to the kitchen, Wayne on her heels and Jane catching up after observing the flat white box spread out on the living room table, his note on the side.

He came into the kitchen observing Corin frantically scanning the chaos that was crushed eggs, jars of splattered condiments and otherwise ruined groceries. Jane stepped up a few inches. "What are you looking for?"

It was a fluff question, of course. One only meant to register her response, he already knew the answer.

She blinked, holding her head down for a minute before turning it up at him. She was visibly thrown by the question, and tried to settle herself. 'Nothing. I just wanted to see if anything could be salvaged."

"I think so." Wayne confirmed. "Why don't you go relax and we'll take care of this, yeah?"

The suggestion didn't sit well with her at all. She grew a bit more agitated, rolling her eyes around and rocking a little bit. "It's okay really, I can handle it."

_I can clean up my own mess_. Jane heard it in his mind, although she didn't use those same words this time.

She was in a panick, struggling with all her self-discipline to hide it, but Wayne wasn't having it. He wrenched his head around rather abruptly and ordered her to the living room. He'd bring her a sandwich and something to drink and then she would relax while the boys cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. She flashed a worried glance to the floor, and then obeyed, Jane mentally giving Wayne double gold stars for his assertiveness.

Wayne brought her a club sandwich. It wasn't fancy, just a few different types of meat layered between three slices of bread secured with a couple of toothpicks. Accompanying the sandwich was a cool glass of milk. Then he went back to the work in the kitchen.

She managed to get down half of the sandwich and drank some of the milk. She was staring out across the room when Jane and Rigsby returned. They both stopped and watched her. She'd taken the two toothpicks and was idly making one bounce off the other. Jane didn't try to hide his amusement this time. "I see you've learned my trick."

"What?" She answered, and then looked down. "Oh. Well, I know my fair amount of bar tricks. I didn't need anyone to teach me that one."

"Oh." He let his head make a quick drop while smiling tightly, and then bob back up again.

Jane was content to let Rigsby visit with his sister until he was satisfied that she would be okay. She was relieved when they left.

She watched them pull off and then she scrambled to the kitchen. _Where was it? _She looked everywhere she could think of until she'd worn herself out, and then she paced the floor worried about whose hands it might be in. Why did it seem to be going so wrong when she'd managed to keep it together for so long? It was starting to unravel and she couldn't stop it anymore.

She tried to go to bed. She rolled and rolled and when she couldn't find any rest, she turned the sound machine on, hoping the mimicked sound of waves crashing on the shore

would lull her, but she was awake just the same.

Finally, when the anxiousness and the fretting over how Abbie was doing had gotten the best of her, she hopped in the car and started driving, ultimately arriving at the place she always ended up when she felt overwhelmed, depressed or afraid. The ocean.

It was a moonless night, but the stars were spread out in a powder of twinkles reminiscent of a million lightening bugs flickering overhead. She heard the sea before she saw it.

The beautiful, full roar of the ocean, pushing itself over the shores in an astounding display of strength and power. It was something she could never grow tired of.

She reached it in a matter of minutes, feeling a temporary release of the worry in her mind. She walked along the shoreline until she finally just stood there, the foam bubbling over her sandaled feet, and let the breeze catch her hair.

Patrick knew he wouldn't catch her by surprise, she was fairly aware of her surroundings and from the encounter with her in the piano room, he'd known that she didn't let people sneak up on her if she could help it. He watched her for a minute or two, and then he spoke. "So, here you are."

She simply sighed with a hint of a smile as she turned to him. "You were looking for me? "

"As a matter of fact, I was. Yes."

"Oh." She said rather aloofly and then she rolled her eyes around in a distracted sort of way before raising them again and asking. "Did you follow me? "

"Nope."

"Then how did you know where I'd be?"

He watched her with an unwavering searching gaze, taking in her demeanor and perceived the growingly not so subtle change. The female before him was not the same defensive, guarded woman he'd grown accustomed to. This one was pensive and deeply restless, cracking under the pressure of a profound disturbance that had rooted itself securely inside of her, well beneath the surface. One that he'd been trying to make sense of since he'd first met her.

He'd first noticed the shift take form on the day she'd broken the glass bottle at the school. In many ways, the shattered glass was symbolic of the crack in her own glass bottle. This was the defensive barrier she fought so hard to keep erected between herself and everyone else. The one of which she'd carefully hidden her own secrets inside.

He smiled, with a marked knowing, while taking a couple of steps closer. "It was easy. You love the ocean."

She gave a faint chuckle. "Yes, obviously."

He didn't leave it there. "Rivers and lakes have boundaries, they're still confined, restricted. But the ocean is open and unrestrained. Too deep to reach bottom, it appears to have no precincts at all. So the ocean makes you feel safe. "

She was quiet, much more contemplative than he'd seen her before and equally as slow to fire a snappy remark back at him. She stared over the water, nodding until he added. "You have a sound machine in your bedroom, set to the ocean because it restores that feeling you get when you're here experiencing it in person. Makes you sleep easier."

The was a moment of confirmation in her eyes, and in the way she drew a breath when he'd said the ocean made her feel safe. A moment when she was completely open. But it was briefer than he had time to take advantage of. She blinked a wide-eyed frightened glance at him. She was fighting with herself, desperately trying to sustain that same guarded expression that kept her from the moment of honesty she so needed, struggling to hold him at bay with her defensive manner.

She countered him, but it failed to deliver the objection with the usual bite. This time it sounded more like a plea than a rebuttal. "Do you ever not analyze people, Jane? Or is it something that you can't turn off like breathing or … Hunger? Even so, has it ever occurred to you that even if it's true, for the sake of others, it might be better to not say anything at all and keep what you know to yourself? That maybe digging deeper might cause more harm than good?"

The corners of his mouth turned up subtly - _she'd dropped the mister. _He was careful not to bring it to her attention. "If you think I say everything that comes across my mind, then you're sadly mistaken. But what I do say, I do so because people don't usually offer the truth willingly. They hide behind facades and false pretenses, and will use those as a crutch before they'll ever reveal who they truly are underneath."

"Is that what you think of me?"

This question was more than he'd expected. He hesitated, choosing his words methodically, and then moved even closer until he could touch her if he wanted. "I think, Corin, that you're in trouble. You desperately want to escape, but you don't know how. And you won't ask for help, because you're afraid of the consequences."

Her breathing changed as she stared, once more at the dark rolling water rising and then crashing on the shore in unity with the rise and fall of his voice. "You've been running so long, that you're unable to determine when it's okay to stop. When your safe."

"You're safe." He whispered in a softness that delicately touched the vulnerable place in her. So deeply that she could hardly bear it. And then it happened. He'd been inching closer to her, talking to her in that assuring tone, gentle and convincing. She was searching for the will to stay strong against his skillful, delicately maneuvered assault on the fear that controlled her, unaware that he had something in mind.

His fingers wrapped around the purse and he'd secured it firmly in his hands before she realized he'd ever touched it. She snapped out of her daze, yanking herself around with a look of horror lining her smooth, porcelain features. Their eyes linked together as if they were in a staring contest, as he suspended the purse upright between both hands, just under his face. "Anything you need to know about a woman can be easily discovered by the mere contents of her purse. Did you know that?"

She was choking back emotion in an effort to stop him from doing what he was implying he would do. Her breathing was labored now, the sense of fear fully peaked in silver eyes that flicked back and forth across his face. Her shoulders sloped a little and she was starting to wrench her hands - something he'd not seen before.

She was completely undone.

This is why he'd frightened her so much from that first day. She'd been able to hide under the radar, able to exist as she had for ten years without anyone ever knowing the truth.

Without anyone ever being aware of the part of her that lived secluded and alienated from everyone else. A necessary sacrifice on her part - so it seemed. But this man _was_ paying attention. He'd seen the things everyone else missed, and that was dangerous. She closed her mouth, drew in one long, solid breath and then steadied her eyes into his.

"I know what you can do. You'll wear me down until I tell you what you want to know and I won't be able to stop you. But before you do … Before you open that door, I'm begging you please. You don't …You don't know what you're asking. Everything I do, every decision I make …. It's for Abbie. Do you understand me?"

"_Do you hear me?"_

He was listening to her, taking in her words as well as her body language, tone, but most importantly, everything her eyes were saying that she, herself, had not found the strength to. Time was suspended, him standing there eying her attentively, she, broken and on the verge of sobbing in front of him. He maintained his position, answering calmly after several torturing minutes. "I do."

Her eyes were welling, on the verge of spilling over. "Please, don't do this. Please, don't force me."

He dropped one hand, eying her and then let out a breath. "I could never and I would never force you to do anything, Corin."

And then he offered her the purse.

The effect was reminiscent of a child receiving his or her security blanket. She hugged it under her arm, blinking dripping eyelashes and splashing moisture across her cheeks in the process.

"Thank you." It was raspy, and spoken weakly as if she'd been completely drained. Without another word, she slipped forwards and past him.

He pivoted around, aiming another verbal arrow at the seemingly invisible enemy holding her prisoner inside of herself. "Do you know why secrets are so important to the bad guy Corin? There's no repercussion for him as long as he's got you under his thumb. You suffer, while he keeps on doing whatever he does. It's all smokescreen, a parlor trick. He distracts with intimidation and threats when it's he, himself, who is afraid of being caught. It's hardly fair, and more than that … It's the biggest deception anyone could ever pull off. You're smarter than that."

She had stopped, for a moment, with her back still to him. She'd closed her eyes, clinging to the purse while her heart thumped rapidly inside her chest. And when she'd steadied herself again, she resumed her pace until she'd reached the car.

Her reflection in the window had always been distorted, that's the way it is with curved glass. But tonight, she caught a glimpse of herself in it and couldn't help but feel a twinge of helplessness, wondering if the reflection, this time, might be more accurate than not.

She fixed the key into the lock, opened the door and slid into the seat. She stared out into the open space, started the engine, and then she had left the beach.

**A/N - Hey guys, remember when I said this was gonna get darker? Well, hold on, it's here. **

**Gosh, let's see … I'm never quite sure what to do with anonymous reviews. While I'm flattered that you stopped to review, I'm thinking if you don't like original characters positioned so strongly in a fan fiction Anna, then I guess this fic just isn't for you. Thanks for reviewing though.**

**Masquerade, yup, a horse! Gotta love it and thank you so much for sticking with the story this far!**

**Aragornsgirl, thanks so much! I value your insight!**

**Ambercloud, don't smoke up your keyboard now! Haha! I added your other fic to my c2 listing. **

**Late March - Thank you as well! And, here's your next chapter! Lol!!**

**Idlecrush - You make some cool observations! I'm so glad the story's still holding your interest!**

**CapJack - Bam! I'm so glad when someone notices the little things! Thank you!!**

**JC6 and Zephyr - Thank you for stopping to review! Reviews make me smile!!**

**Also thank you to everyone who's added me to favorites and/or alerts .. I so appreciate you all! I certainly hope this chapter whetted your appetites. **

**Oh, and for those who love long chapters, well, this one broke 5k words! Ha! **

**Now, go write some Mentalist fics people!! **


	5. RedLight Crossing: The Birth of Red John

**Chapter 5 - Red-Light Crossing - The Birth of Red John**

There was little traffic out, and that was a small wonder considering it was late Friday night - very early Saturday morning depending on your viewpoint. And it was a very good thing, given the way Corin was swerving across the road. She couldn't concentrate and the divider- lines were smeared through her blurry-eyed, concentrated stare. _Damn tears, she hated them. _

Somehow, she managed to escape the probability of plunging off the shoulder or slamming into another car, safely sliding into her own front yard. She flung the door open, starting out of the seat as if someone had poked her in the ass. She stood there a minute, frozen and staring into the empty shell of dark blue.

Then she shut the door, making a fast- paced stride into the house. She secured all the locks, and then checked the rest of the home. Windows, doors and everything else were all fixed before she returned to the living room.

It was all running through her mind. His voice, what she felt when he taunted her with the purse in his hands and then the sharp drop of her stomach as she contemplated just how close he was to the truth.

"_I do so because people don't usually offer the truth willingly. They hide behind facades and false pretenses, and will use those as a crutch before they'll ever reveal who they truly are underneath."_

The dialog spun around her head in dizzy circles.

"_I could never and I would never force you to do anything, Corin."_

She closed her eyes, trying to make it stop. Trying to wish this all away. She could pack everything up, take Abbie somewhere else. She could run, just as she always had and then… _**He'd**__ have to find her again. _

She'd run. She'd gather the suitcases, grab everything she and Abbie could carry and they could start somewhere else. She'd find another job and this time they would get an apartment, just as they always had before Wayne convinced her to come home. Damn him, how had he been so persuasive? Damn her, why did she have to be so weak?

_Damn Jane for paying attention._

She made a dash up to the second floor and then the attic, releasing the wooden staircase from the ceiling. She'd hauled two suitcases down before she stopped dead. What would she tell Abbie this time? They'd moved close to one of the only other relatives the little girl had, she was making friends that she never could have before. Then there was that damned horse.

Face twitching under pressure, she flicked a wild-eyed gaze over the room. Then she was downstairs again, pacing the floor like someone had broken her off switch. She shook her head a few times, and clamped her hands over the back of her neck.

She didn't know how it happened. She was moving back and forth across the living room, murmuring gibberish and then she was sitting on the couch, staring at the television screen. There he was, Patrick Jane the psychic, prancing around in his flashy suite and larger than life, beaming a shiny white smile for the camera. Her hand slid over her mouth as she fixed her gaze on him, her mind numb from the internal conflict.

Her head wrenched around, while her thumb hit the volume control as soon as she heard the thump just outside the window. She'd seen the shadow too. Invisible bugs crawled over her skin, or so it seemed, as she rose, slowly turning to the door. Her eyes flickered down when she caught motion near the bottom.

Someone on the other side of that door slipped a white card through the crack underneath it. A white index card.

_She knew it well. _

She crept closer a couple of steps, her breath caught in her nose, her limbs starting a slow, uncontrollable tremble. She straightened herself with a weak resolve that grew somewhat stronger when she started moving again.

There was a place in the house, a hidden place, easily accessible, but unknown by Abbie. She went for it, fumbling with the pistol for a second, once she'd retrieved it, thinking she didn't have the luxury of being frightened now. She'd have to shove all the fear and insecurities back down. one way or another, and open that door.

Then she was standing there, her fingers wrapped around the handle, it clicked as the door cracked into a slit and then a wide space. There was blackness before her, with streetlights glowing in the distance. She pulled back the loading mechanism and the gun responded with a loud

_**CLICK**_

She flipped around, wide-eyed and clamping the gun in her hand when she'd detected motion from the corner of her left eye. She was gaping, jaw dropped. He was staring back, showing her his palms as he responded in his usual cool tone. "H …Hold on Corin …Think … _**Think." **_

She was panting now, staring at him like a wild animal. "Jane?"

She was rigidly perched, feet spread apart with the gun stiffly aimed at him. He was facing her, without a hint of shock or nervousness in his expression. He locked eyes with her, keeping his hands visible as he tried to coax her down.

"It's just me." He answered composedly. "You don't really want to shoot me … Do you?"

A difficult question. There were times she felt like it, but no, she wouldn't really do it. She was lowering the pistol in slow motion, blinking back at him dazedly. "Wha …What are you …What are you doing here? W…Why are you here?"

He was taking slow deliberate steps towards her, in careful consideration of her body language. He spoke to her in a calm resolve. "You're safe. There's no danger. Everything's quiet now, calm_ ... Calm._"

He breathed relief once the gun was in his own hands. What was she doing with a gun, anyway? He was accustomed to having one drawn on him when on a case, but not here and now. She turned dully, unable to make sense out of what had just happened. She viewed the card on the floor, reached for it and then paused a moment, dangling it from her hands.

She ignored Jane, temporarily, as if he was invisible, rotating her body around in slow motion. Then she flipped her head up, staring out into the yard. She abruptly sprinted down the stairs, swinging her head frantically back and forth as if searching for someone.

He set the gun down on the swing and sighed. She hadn't fixed it together yet, and he was sorry for putting her through it. It was not his intention to create such distress in a woman fighting everything within her to escape it. It seemed … It felt cruel.

"Corin, there's no one here but us." He called after her. "We're alone."

She turned back, staring at him from the yard. What did he mean? Of course there was someone there. Someone stepped up on the porch. Someone passed by the window and someone slid that card under her door. And there was only one person who would know enough to do it. Maybe he ran when he saw Jane, but he was there.

Wasn't he? He'd gotten away fast, without Jane seeing him or even suspecting he'd been there. Was that possible? Jane missing a detail? Missing a detail …_like an unlikely object hiding under a bag of groceries. _Her mind raced with a new and even more frightening realization. "You? You did this? You ….I can't …"

"I'm sorry Corin."

She was dragging slow, staggered gasps as horrifying thoughts crashed over her. He had been there outside her window, he slid the card under the door. How did he know? Where did he find it? Did he know there was one in her purse too? Just how much did he already know? She was pacing backwards, rocking side to side, lips quivering uncontrollably.

"Oh my God. Oh God …"

"Corin." He coaxed, moving towards her again. "Look at me."

She could hardly breathe, flicking eyes up that hurt him to peer into. He wished he wouldn't have had to do what he did. She took a another step backwards. "Where did you get this? Where? Did Abbie see it? Oh God, please don't tell me she did."

"_Patrick," Abbie murmured hesitantly. "I have to show you something."_

_She lifted one of the stuffed animals and slipped a white index card from under it, and then she gave it to Patrick. "I think this is what happened to my Mom. Why she fainted."_

_He'd held his expression well, careful not to reveal the shock and sting of recollection at the sight of it. Plain white, with nothing written on it except for a red smiley-face, it rested in her grasp like the death card in a pack of Tarot.  
_

_He shoved down the memory of the red-faced wall he'd slept under for the past five years. The horrid tragedy that brought him to such a place. Dwelling between four cold, empty walls and laying his head down on a plain mattress at night, unable to grant himself the rest he would deny he needed. _

_He turned his back on his own emotion in an effort to try to understand someone else's. It wasn't just merely because he was trying to help another person, but it was also safer that way. Safer for him. _

_Abbie wasn't one he could totally hide from, however. And somehow, it was okay because it was her. She looked up at him innocently. "Patrick, are you okay?" _

_He admired her pretty, intelligent brown eyes, ones that looked at the world unafraid and with curiosity. All that running was not the life she should have had. He smiled. "Of course. Where did you get this?"_

"_I think Mom found it in the groceries." Abbie admitted. "I went to put my backpack in my room. I was gonna help put the groceries up. She was on the floor and the card was by her head. I …I didn't know what to do with it .. And then I saw you with Uncle Wayne. "_

_He had to give her credit, she was a bright child. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You did the right thing Abbie." _

_But she had more to say, staring at him with a concern that made him want to scoop her in his arms, like he had his own little girl so long ago. She drew a breath. "He's a bad man, isn't he? "_

_Squatting down to her level, he made certain to stare deeply into her eyes before he responded. He wanted to firmly instill the security words alone wouldn't. He brought his voice to a sure, steady tone. "You don't need to worry, Abbie. I won't let anything happen to you or your Mom. You're safe now. "_

_He didn't have time to consider it anymore. Abbie slipped up into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder, and wrapping her small arms around his neck. _

_Wayne came to the doorway moments later, unaware of what had transpired between them. _

"Did Abbie see this?" Corin probed again, terrified of the answer.

"No." He denied, but this time he was horribly displeased with the ineffectiveness of his denial.

Corin's face registered the falsehood immediately. She blinked stiffly, scaring him with the intense calm she was displaying through her body language. She was frantic when she'd stepped out onto the porch, and shaking uncontrollably as she darted out into the yard, but now … Now she looked completely numb and blank, as if in a trance. The card slipped from her hands as she turned towards the house, putting one deliberate foot in front of the other, until she'd crossed the doorway.

He retrieved the card and followed her, of course, tracing the same path she'd made to the steps. Perhaps it was a good thing Corin knew that particular truth, although he never intended on breeching his trust with Abbie.

He placed a foot on the steps, hearing something very familiar. Something low, but it was so familiar that it didn't need to be loud for him to detect it. He was on the porch, nearing the doorway, and Corin was just past him. She turned around when he entered the house, staring at him with her mouth popped open. He wasn't looking at her this time though. He was holding the red-smiley face between his fingers, blindsided by the picture flickering on the television screen.

He knew the piece of film well, better than anyone. He'd viewed it repeatedly in the beginning, trying to wrap his head around the tremendous loss, this abrupt void that had forced it's way inside him.

_The flashy psychic, Patrick Jane, the man who knew everything, could solve any mystery couldn't predict the senseless murder of his wife and child. He'd crossed paths with a man who didn't want company. Red John. A serial killer who had made his mark with a string of at least eight to ten unthinkably horrific murders. _

_All women and all left dead beneath his mark, his signature. A red smiley face drawn on the wall, above the victims head in the victims own blood. _

_Red John wasn't too happy when an egotistical, young enigma like Jane gained attention and rep off of his name. A name he'd established from his own merit, not leeching it from someone else. The murder of Jane's wife and daughter was to serve as a lesson to not meddle in the affairs of a true artist like John. _

_A master craftsman. _

_Jane grieved and then he sank all of his energy and talents into the CBI helping them catch killers and other such criminals. One day, he would catch Red John too. _

Jane already suspected that Corin knew who he was. She recognized him that day in the piano room when her long rant dropped off sharply and she stared at him, studying his face. He knew the look as soon as she displayed it. It was written in the way her lips parted, and her eyes flickered recognition. She had never mentioned his wife or family again after that moment. He'd also caught her glancing at his left hand occasionally. A fact he didn't intend on mentioning - until now.

Yes, he knew Corin had recognized him, but this … Walking into her home and finding her watching a five year old tape replaying the worst day of his life was a true shocker. Something that did not figure into his scheme - a precisely endeavored plan constructed to flesh out the secret she erroneously believed she could never reveal.

He thought she might break when he grabbed her purse, but when she didn't, he let her go. He decided to follow her home and then creep onto her porch, slipping the card under her door, knowing it might send her over the edge. She would tell him then. He was convinced that it would all come pouring out of her.

Never did he imagine that just as he was revealing all of her secrets, she would turn and reveal his as well. A strange twist, like two roads that appear, for all intent and purposes, single pathways leading in two separate directions, until fate brings them to a crossroad and their paths are suddenly entwined together. Connected by a single event.

There they were, in the same room, him holding her secret between his fingers, hers his within the fragile sliver of tape running through the VCR. It would have been poetic were it not so tragic.

They stared at each other until the tape flickered to its end.

The dead air between them was painful for both, she staring at him staring at the blank screen There was only one move he could make now. No other way around it. She was not someone who responded to the usual manipulation. Not a person who would play the game the way it should go. No, in order for her to lay her cards down, he would have to relinquish his as well.

He pulled his lips tight while nodding and then spoke. "You've seen me on tv."

"Yea" She whispered.

Her brows narrowed when he slid his hand into his back pocket. He flipped it open with resolve, not happy about it, but realizing it was going to take a major give on his part for her to feel safe enough to open up to him. He passed her a folded up square of paper.

She watched him move towards the couch as she went to shut the door. Then she turned, watching him methodically lower himself down. She moved forward, placing herself by the arm, on the opposite end, unable to say or do anything but stare at the paper in her hands. She was supposed to unfold it, and yet she felt like she was opening his underwear drawer.

She sort of fumbled with it, peeling open the creases until it was completely open, spread out in her hands ominously. A new sense of horror mixed with devastation flushed over her when she let her eyes scan it. A plain white sheet of typing paper, with a properly typed, meticulously worded message and nothing else.

_Dear Mr. Jane,_

_I do not like to be slandered in the_

_ media. Especially by a dirty money-_

_grubbing fraud. _

_If you were a real psychic instead of a _

_dishonest little worm, you _

_wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've _

_done to your lovely wife and daughter. _

The words beat into her chest as if it had been written for her. Jane drew a long, tortured breath. "I was …" He paused, Corin sensing the pain behind the hesitation. "I was a stupid man. Pathetic. "

She remained at the edge of the couch, listening, a slow tremble rumbling in her stomach. He shook his head. "It was a game. Entertainment and I got paid for it. I got paid … And then I paid. No, they paid and I was left to the ugly reality that it was my doing. That I am responsible. I live with that over my head every day."

He hadn't looked at her while confessing this. Instead he'd stared straight, eyes fixed on the blank screen as if looking for signs of a life that was dead to him now. _This was real. _This was Patrick Jane speaking from his heart. Self-effacing and raw. So plain and exposed that he'd reached straight into her, past her own defenses to the part she tried to keep hidden so well. The part he had sensed there from the moment on the beach, when she'd barreled up to him and blurted out her protestations as if he were the enemy.

It was a strange sort of irony. He was aiming to make her feel safe enough, comfortable enough with him to tell him her secret and here he was feeling as though his heart were tearing into shreds by telling her his. "It's cruel, a burden no one should ever bear. Not only loosing them like that, but being the one to … "

She'd never heard his voice break before. She'd never had a glimpse of the torture he, himself, hid from everyone under the disguise that he effectively wore. He kept everything light, so that no one could pry or ask him questions he feared answering. He put himself in their heads so that they couldn't get into his.

He cleared his throat, regaining his composure before it'd gotten away from him. "But it's mine and there's nothing I can do about that now. There's nothing I can do to change anything about it. And there are times when I believe there's no one who could possibly feel what I feel, know what I know. Do I feel pain? That … That can't even be a real question, how could I not? "

She watched him with eyes that saw him and not the arrogant man she first thought him to be. He was not the same man as the one on the television either. Underneath the seemingly carefree, sometimes downright annoying, nature was a man, broken, tortured by a past he was grossly remorseful for but could not change and he was showing himself to her, briefly, for her sake.

_In some ways, he and she were the same._

She was flitting her eyes across him, and then she moved towards the front of the couch. He didn't turn his head at first when she gently sat next to him. Neither did she for a few minutes. They both stared out over the room quietly, until she turned her head towards him. A flood of emotion went through her when his eyes met hers, and then when she couldn't bear to look any longer, she cast a quick glance to the floor.

"Wayne thinks … He thinks I made a stupid mistake. That the first guy I picked ran out on me when he found out I was pregnant."

"And that's not what happened?"

"No." She shook her head, eyes already tearing before she'd even begun. "But I'd rather him think that than …"

She let out a staggered sigh, swallowed and then began telling him what she had not spoken of out loud for ten years. The only person she'd ever revealed it to couldn't tell anyone now.

_Ten years ago she was studying music and was going to Julliard the following year. She'd been accepted the previous year but was held back until the financial aide, as well as scholarships, had finally gone through. _

_Her social life was not as active as some, as most even, because she spent more time studying than the average student. This night, however, her roommate convinced her to go out for a drink. _

_The room mate met a guy and though reluctant, Corin assured her that she was fine with being left alone. They'd walked there from their off campus apartment and if it seemed too late to be out, she would call a cab. In the end, she'd been effective in convincing her to go with her new friend. Corin remained there only long enough to finish her second drink and then she made her way outside. _

_She'd strolled for a few minutes in the dark, and then realized something was wrong. She'd only downed two light beers in a span of two or three hours, but her head was fuzzy and she couldn't see clearly. It was then that a man approached her. He expressed concern, reminding her of when they'd met before, although she had no recollection of meeting him at all, and then offered her a ride. _

_She'd wanted to refuse, but was quickly loosing her balance and she wasn't going to be able to walk on her own much longer. So, she reluctantly allowed him to steer her into his car._

_She knew he wasn't taking her home when the streetlights grew so sparse that she could see nothing but a blur of trees flitting past her window. She flopped her head over to the drivers side, but the man was a blur too. _

_Then he stopped the car. His breath was heavy as he turned to her. She tried to reach for the door handle, but she didn't know if her fingers ever made it or not. It hardly mattered for he pinned her down into the seat, and then she knew what was next. _

_She was weak and defenseless while he did everything he wanted … Until he was satisfied. She thought he was going to kill her then, and there were times she wished he had, but he set himself upright in his seat instead and started the ignition. _

_The story grew more bizarre from there. _

_While she thought that this would be the end of her life, he did something overwhelmingly peculiar. He drove her home. He helped her out of the car, walked her to her apartment, got her inside and put her to bed. He carefully folded the covers over her and then murmured something about a secret. Then he was gone._

_Her roommate, Dana, accosted her the next day. She'd encountered the man while she was coming home and he was leaving. When she'd expressed concern, he told her that Corin had a little too much to drink, but that she was in her bed resting. Then he left. _

_Knowing full well that Corin had never been drunk before, she pressed her until Corin revealed the truth. Dana was horrified, blamed herself and pleaded with Corin to report it. _

_Three days later, Corin received an index card in her school mailbox marked with a red smiley-face that said - You should have kept our secret. _

_Dana was found dead that morning. _

Corin nearly shrunk back when Patrick touched her. He covered her hand with his and then left it there firmly until he was certain she wasn't going to pull away. No amount of willpower could keep the tears from spilling over her cheeks now, as she listened to herself recall the story, out loud, as though it were fresh in her mind.

"I, um." She whispered. "I thought it was nerves, you know. I was sick, nauseas …I didn't think I was …I mean I just never thought …"

_She was pregnant. Pregnant with the baby of the man who'd forced himself on her. The man who'd senselessly murdered her roommate just because Corin had shared the intimate details of what happened to her that night. _

"I … I thought about … I tried … I went to the place and I waited my turn, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't put myself through that, so I left."

"Then I thought I could give her up, you know. For adoption, maybe. But then Wayne and Pop came to see me for Thanksgiving. I told them I couldn't come home, that I had to work and I needed the money for school. So, they came to me. I was seven months pregnant, how could I hide it then? "

_It wasn't difficult for her to act vulnerable in front of her family, as she crafted the story of the guy who'd abandoned her after finding out she was pregnant. Wayne and Pop backed her from the moment she told them, never questioning her over it again._

_She eventually dropped out of school, not without steady objections from Wayne and her Pop. But she did it her own way, regardless, getting a job and then she eventually started roaming from place to place, afraid he might find her if she stayed still too long.  
_

Corin raised her head resolutely, cold tears streaming down her face. "She's mine. She's mine and no one else's. Nothing else matters."

"Yes." He agreed, holding her hand in his.

Then she was on her feet, shaking her head and pacing again. "I was so afraid and then when I had her … She was … So beautiful. I just wanted … I wanted her to be normal, to have a normal life. Not … Not this. Not running, not being afraid all the time. Not wondering when he's gonna just come in and …. And…"

Patrick was on his feet. He reached for her, steadying her with his hand on her arm.

"Corin." He'd said her name softly, touching her with his hand. She spun around and then, though it seemed nearly impossible several weeks ago, she was sobbing into his shoulder.

Patrick didn't get close to women any farther than maybe a hand on a shoulder or on the woman's hand in order to establish trust and security between them. He recalled the widow with the diamonds. She was pretty, dumber than she tried to be, but pretty. She'd flatly asked him to hold her, although the idea was completely ridiculous. He'd promptly refused.

_But this was different. _This was …Easy. He and Corin were connected and it was felt between the both of them. So, he didn't pull away when she leaned into him. He stared at the television as he folded his arms over her. And when she pulled away, he led her to the couch again, nudging her to sit while he offered her his handkerchief. Different from the bloodied one she'd brought home with her before. _She'd not returned that. _

And then he left her there, aiming for the kitchen. He shook his head, already aware of the fact that she didn't have a tea bag in the entire house. How could she not like tea?

He remembered there being a jar of apple juice in the fridge and so he took that instead, poured it into a couple of glasses and then returned to Corin.

She was a step calmer than she had been before he left her. She thanked him, took a sip and then set it on the coaster. He knew when to start asking questions, reading it in her eyes and body language. One was pressing in his mind over any other.

"Did you … Tell him where you lived? Had you given him your address?"

"No." She answered, and then her face formed a question of her own. "No, I was so messed up I couldn't have remembered where I lived if I tried. Why?"

He flicked his eyes over her, not really wanting to point out the obvious, but they were beyond pretense now. "Then he already knew. It means he'd been watching you, stalking you, probably for quite some time, formulating his plan before he made his move. "

She gasped when he said this, her chin rising and falling with it. It was very plain and simple, but she'd never considered it. She'd always thought he'd been parked at the bar looking for someone easy to take advantage of. The typical date rape when the guy slips a mickey in the single girls drink and waits for it to take effect - only he wasn't on a date and neither was she.

It never occurred to her that he was stalking her far longer than she'd been aware of. The concept was chilling and difficult to grasp. Patrick didn't want to cause her anymore trauma, but he knew that if she'd pulled through everything else, she could handle anything he threw at her.

"Serial killers, rapists, don't just start off that way. It's a process. It's the small things first. Looking at things they shouldn't, lifting small items … personal items. Sometimes they kidnap and then let the victim go … It's like practice."

She closed her eyes, thinking of the various times she'd been doing laundry and found certain delicates missing. One time she'd come home and her hairbrush was missing as well. She'd been convinced that on one occasion her roommate was using her makeup.

Patrick tilted his head down, turning it to the side a bit. "It sounds familiar to you. Things missing without explanation?"

She didn't want to nod, but she found herself doing it anyway. Then she eyed the television, the blank screen where the video was playing earlier. "I don't believe in psychics."

"Oh?"

It sounded funny in lieu of the video she'd held onto for five years.

"I, didn't like you either, when I first saw you."

He laughed. "No kidding."

"No, I mean … then. With the fancy suites and talking to peoples dead relatives etc. I know how it works. You say _'you have issues with your parents' _and then I'm supposed to say '_Yes, how did you know? blah blah _… ' fill in the blanks and then you look like you've just read my mind. I mean, who doesn't want to hear that their father forgives them for the fight they had before his death? The girls at work talked about you, raved about you. One girl wrote you fan letters every day I think. "

"I was flipping the channels on the television when I saw you talking about him. Red John. Describing what kind of a person you thought he was, what he might be doing. Why he did such terrible things. And that's why I was watching. That's why I taped it. "

"You didn't know me from Adam, but it was like we were sharing a secret or something that no one else knew. It was five years from that night. Five years, and after watching you talk about him, I was almost ready to tell the truth. Then he murdered your wife and daughter. "

He might have stopped her before she'd gotten that far … _Had she been anyone else. _Yet, this was both disturbing and sort of gratifying in that through the bullshit he pushed over the airwaves back then, he'd managed to touch someone in a way he hadn't thought possible. He'd made a connection that he wasn't even aware of.

How ironic that it would come together like this. It was five years to the day after his assault on Corin when Red John went after Patrick's family, and now, here, five years later the two of them meet. Him joining the CBI, working with her brother, unaware of her. Crossing paths with she and Abbie on the beach and then learning that they'd had more in common than just her brother. Even the similarities of their names. It was uncanny, and acutely disquieting.

"I know why he did it. It's the same reason why I've never spoken about it again after Dana."

She sighed. "Abbie found the card … And she gave it to you."

"Yes." He admitted, bracing himself should she fly off the handle again.

She nodded rather calmly before asking the question of which she feared the answer. "How much does she know?"

"She knows you're scared." He would be completely straight with her now. "She knows you've been running from someone and she knows it's a man. She wants you to relax, and to be happy."

"Yes." She whispered, half-smiling.

"Children are smarter than we think. What were you aware of when you were her age? Things the adults thought nothing of. She's very bright, strong, and she can handle what's thrown at her. Like her mother."

"And Wayne?"

"He's very worried about you. He wants you near him, and he'll do anything to make certain you don't run again. And yes, he told me the story of the dead -beat father."

She bobbed her head and then ran her finger around the glass of juice. "He's never gonna firgive me. He will know and he will come after us now. It's what I was afraid of, don't you see? It's the reason for all of this … This that you called a façade. He'll do whatever it is he's planning on doing and neither you or anyone else will be able to stop him."

He took her hand securely in both of his this time, settling his eyes confidently into hers.

"You're a remarkable woman Corin. Shouldering this amount of weight for this length of time while raising your daughter. The ability you have to separate the two events, what happened to you and her existence is beyond comprehension. But it's time for you to stop running. You're not alone, and you're not doing this alone anymore. You're safe."

He let this sink in before he said anything else and then he repeated it. "You're safe."

It was five in the morning. Corin eventually relaxed into the couch, her words drowsy and slipping away until her eyes couldn't fight the pending sleep any longer. He watched her drop off, thoughtfully and then he rose. He lifted her legs up on the couch, into a better sleeping position, and then, responsively, she curled up, never waking.

He was making his way to the bedroom when he paused at the bottom of the staircase.

There was something at the top of the stairs and his curiosity got the better of him. He breeched the top step and flicked his eyes over the empty suitcases. Then he turned his gaze down the stairs in the direction of the living room. In a fight or flight scenario, it seemed she'd learned that flight was easier, more comfortable. But that wasn't going to be the case now. Not now with him there. He'd promised Wayne that she was going to stay put this time … He'd promised Abbie that she and Corin were safe right where they were and he was intent on keeping that promise.

He left the luggage where it was, trailing the staircase until he'd reached ground floor. He discovered a sage colored blanket draped over the corner of her bed. He retrieved it, found her just as he'd left her and then he covered her with it.

He sat down in the chair next to her, and watched her sleep. All this time, all the experts and authorities, even he himself, thought they knew everything about Red John. They had traced his path of violence back to his original victim - or so they'd thought. But here they were, Corin and Abbie, virtually unknown, undiscovered by anyone.

The only known survivors of Red John's bloody rampage.

It could very well be that this is where it all started. That he kept her alive because of the history, as a special landmark of his transformation. The day the man ceased to exist and Red John was born.

* * *

**A/N - This is the first time I've handled such a topic in writing. I hope I've done it justice and approached it respectfully. Seriously, thank you all for your interest.  
**

**S**_**ome symbolic things explained below if you're interested, if not it's not a problem. **_

Now I can tell you some things. First, the name Abigail means something akin to "A fathers Joy." It's a bit macabre and sort of twisted, I know.

Red Sandcastles is named so due to the life Abigail and Corin have experienced up to this point. Their house has always been a symbolical sandcastle, temporary and fragile. And it's red for obvious reasons.

Chapter three was titled Red Rider …the red rider is the second horse of the apocolypse. He comes in with a sword causing men to kill each other.

The name Jason can be translated as healer, and Apollo was obviously a Greek God, but I liked it because of the variety of aspects he represents. He was attributed with the ability to bring both sickness/plague and the cure for them as well. I also liked his affiliation with music and poetry/philosophy.

Red dots is fairly obvious … Jane was putting together the pattern to get the whole picture of Corins very odd behavior and self-defensive nature.

Also, I hope you've noticed by now the subtle, maybe not so subtle change of Jane to Patrick during his and Corin's interactions. In previous chapters I purposely referred to him as Jane when the two of them were interacting while Patrick when he was with Abbie in an attempt to create a switch from the wall she was keeping between them to now, when she finally let down her guard. She let him in.

And hopefully you get the meaning behind Red Crossroads - The Birth of Red John.

There's other little things, but those are the major ones thus far. Oh and Dana can be connected with Dan which means "He judged."

And, yes, I think a lot about this stuff when I'm writing, lol! You can thank Lost for that!

Oh and here's another video. I think the song actually matches Patrick and Corin too, but obviously Corin's not in it. Abbie, however is, if you remmeber she's the little girl he borrows the bucket from the build the sandcastle. Heres the vid. Light - Keane(The Hamburg Song)

.com/watch?v=SzdGwQbOY2M


	6. Red Dawn

**Chapter 6 - Red Dawn  
**

It was the start of another beautiful day in California. A bright, golden sun set the maple leaves on fire with vivid pinks and reds. Yellow beams broke through the trees and poked their way through the cracks in the curtains, dancing across smooth hardwood floors.

The house was quiet, a serene hush broken only by the sound of ocean waves lapping on the shore. Corin was snuggled under the sage blanket, eyes closed, never noticing the dawn that had already faded into late-morning.

She'd slept soundly, moreso than she had in a long time. And she was still sleeping when the ringer went off. A loud, abrasive tone that sent her jolting upright and jerking her head around. She checked the clock, ten A.M. and then she set a bleary gaze to the phone.

_Who was calling the landline? _

She'd stopped only a second between the couch and the phone to snatch up a note she'd spotted on the coffee table.

_Eat some breakfast - it's waiting for you in the kitchen. _

She shook her head, sticking the receiver to her ear. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Rigsby?"

"Ms." She corrected.

"Oh, sorry. I, um … Sorry for bothering you, but well this is Lacy's mother. "

"Oh, okay, hi." She shot another glance at the clock. "Oh, it's late … OH! _**I'm**_ late … I'm so sorry … I'll be right there…"

"Oh, no .. No, it's not that. Abbie's fine, I don't care how long she stays, it's …Well, there's a man … He says he's here to pick up Abbie?"

"What? …Who?"

"He says his name is Patrick?"

She sucked her lips in, caught her breath, thinking something terrible at first, then a vague rather foggy recollection crept into her head.

"_Corin?" _

_Her eyes were barely a slit as she responded. "MMmmph …"_

_The steady, but gentle tap on her shoulder persisted, however, until she managed something a little more akin to English, a half-conscious mutter nonetheless. "What?"_

"_What time are you supposed to pick up Abbie?" _

"_Nine thirty, ten … something like …." And then she'd drifted off again. _

Was that real? She'd passed it off as a dream, not thinking Patrick was really going to pick up her child for her. She twisted her mouth to the side while processing the whole thing.

"Can I talk to him?"

"Sure."

"Good Morning!" Patrick said rather pleasantly as he stuck the receiver to his ear. "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

She breathed a sigh, it was indeed Patrick, and oddly enough it brought her relief to hear his voice. Moreso than she would willingly admit. Assured, now, that there was no strange man, exempting Patrick from the equation, looking to abduct Abbie from a clueless parent, she was a little angry. "What? I .. No…I just got up, the phone rang … What are you doing there? Wait, how did you even know where to …?"

"First, you told me … Granted you were …Groggy."

"Oh … That was real? I thought I was dreaming."

"Nope, not a dream. Second, we dropped her off last night, remember?"

"Oh … Right. That's true."

"I've got Abbie. You just go … Do whatever it is you do on a Saturday morning and we'll be over there in a bit."

"Right." She answered hesitantly, but then confirmed to Lacy's mother that it was okay for Patrick to take Abbie.

She placed the receiver on it's rest, turned and stared out into the room, acutely aware of the whooshing of the tide. A sound that did not belong in a living room. The corners of her mouth turned up a little when her eyes fell on the sound machine propped up on the bookshelf.

The last thing she remembered was mumbling a bunch of nonsense sometime in the early morning hours, when it was still black outside and the crickets were chirping. She'd heard a mocking bird singing in the darkness and then she woke up to the phone ringing. She most definitely did not move the device from her bedroom to where it was now. She also didn't drag her blanket from the bedroom either.

A weird feeling passed over her at the thought of Patrick wandering her home alone. He was the type of person who very rarely had any reservations about snooping. But then, she'd told him pretty much everything at this point, what more could he want to know? Did she squeeze the toothpaste tube from the end or the middle?

She shrugged the feeling, ending the pseudo waves pouring from the sound machine, and then found herself headed to the kitchen. She might as well see what he'd cooked up.

_Literally._

Breakfast wasn't elaborate by any means, but it was cute - in a Patrick kind of way. She hadn't many groceries left since the big spill, so he didn't have much to work with. He'd set up a pot of hot coffee. Beside the pot was a bowl of cheerios, minus the milk. Next to the Cheerios was a saucer full of sliced apples.

Surprise of all surprises, she laughed. She bought Cheerios more for Abbie than herself, but she ate them from time to time. On this occasion, her stomach was growling and he had everything set up so nicely. So, she grabbed the milk from the fridge, added some to the cereal and then sat down to eat.

Some twenty minutes away, Patrick was loading Abbie into the car. Abbie was beyond excited when Patrick appeared in the door. Having him pick her up the morning after the slumber party was more than she would have expected, given everything she knew about her mother who would never let someone else do such a thing. She couldn't help but wonder what brought on this odd transformation.

Lacy was standing beside her when Patrick turned around smiling. He finished talking with Corin and now he was ready to scoop up Abbie. Lacy leaned into Abbie and whispered. "He's cute!"

"I know!" Abigail giggled, and then Patrick smiled, squatting down between them.

"Hmm. Abbie, I think you have something in your ear."

"Ha Ha!" Lacy mocked. "It's a penny, right? I've seen that before. It's in your hand. You're just gonna make it look like it came out of her ear."

"Well, I dunno what it is." Patrick denied. "Let's see."

He reached under Abbie's hair, pulling back an empty hand. "Hmm, that's weird. I was convinced I saw something. Abbie, why don't you try Lacy's ear?"

"Huh?" Lacy scrunched up a freckled nose at him while Abbie reached under Lacy's hair. Her mouth dropped open as Abbie pulled her hand back, clasping a white birthday candle between her fingers.

"Oh, wow. You should be careful sleeping with birthday candles in your ears." Patrick commented quite seriously, and then he smiled at Abbie.

"Ready to go?"

"Yes." Abbie giggled again. They left Lacy standing there examining her ears curiously.

"How'd you do that?" Abbie whispered as they stepped out on the porch.

"I'll show you." He answered.

"Promise?"

"Absolutely." He responded, amused with Abbie's reaction to seeing his car for the first time.

To Abbie, it looked ancient, like something off of those old shows they rerun on Nickelodeon. The black and white shows that Corin watched every now and then. Only this car was a very pale blue. It resembled a giant bug, larger in the front, the top somewhat rounded and it sloped downwards in the back. The front wheels appeared larger than the back, only because the rear end of the car was covering half of the back wheels.

"Well, " Patrick nudged, "You gonna hop in?"

He opened the passengers side and Abbie slid in, flicking curious eyes all over the interior. It was different, but she couldn't put it into words. She just knew that things weren't arranged the same way as other cars she'd been in. She also noticed that the engine didn't start when he turned the key, he pushed some kind of pedal or something and that got the engine going. She sat up straight when it seemed to lift itself up underneath her as soon as they pulled off. She couldn't stop herself from asking this time.

"Patrick? What kind of car is this?"

"You like it?"

"It's … Kinda weird, Is it old? "

"Kinda." The seventies would be old in Abbie's mind. "It's a Citroen DS 21."

"Uhhuh." Abbie nodded.

He'd driven his own daughter in the same car. She'd sat where Abbie was right now, her blonde ringlets bouncing whenever they hit a rough patch in the road. He ways always successful at blocking out such thoughts, but he hadn't had another child in his car since then, and so the memory caught him by surprise.

Abbie was gazing back at him as if sensing the pensiveness behind his own stare.

"Patrick?"

'Yes Abbie." He answered, smiling when she called his name.

"Can you make my Mom happy?"

"Well," He answered, the question taking him back a bit. "You can't make people happy, they have to find it themselves." Then he smiled again … A warm, considerate smile. "I think maybe we can show her though. We can do that, can't we?"

'Yea." Abbie nodded.

Corin was at the door as soon as she heard the car pull up. It was now nearly twelve and she'd hung up the phone with Patrick sometime after ten. A twenty minute car ride had turned into nearly two hours.

Abbie ran into the house, dumping her stuff in her room, while Patrick sort of sauntered in. "Did you eat your breakfast?"

"Yea." She responded, eying him disapprovingly.

"What?"

"Two hours? It took you almost two hours to drive from there to here?"

"Well," He tipped the corners of his mouth up slyly. "We took the scenic route. So, what are we doing today?"

"We?"

"Sure. It's Saturday, we can't waste a day like this now, can we ?"

She stared at him, unable to grab a thought from her mind until he shook his head. "Oh, you'd rather be stuck in here all day doing something - productive. Let someone else fritter away all that nice weather ?"

What happened next could not have been anything other than an elaborate, not so subtly concocted ambush. Abbie poked her head from the hallway. "I thought we were gonna go see Apollo today."

Patrick's face brightened with a devilish grin that spread over him as maniacally as the Grinch. "Visit Apollo, why, that's a perfect idea Abbie! You're so smart! Isn't she smart Corin? Well, we'd better get going, half the day's gone."

The next thing she knew, Corin was being herded through the door, Abbie and Patrick smiling at each other as they fell in behind her.

She halted for a second, just a few feet from the automobile. Staring at it reflectively. Patrick moved around her to the passengers side. "So, you … Like my car then?"

"A Citroen. Is it a DS 21?"

"It is." Patrick affirmed and then opened the door. "Very good. "

"Oh, Pop had one." She slid into the seat. "Not the same model. It was older, a thirty-eight. He drove it on Sunday afternoons."

"I know." Then Patrick slipped around the front, jumping into the drivers seat and starting the engine.

Corin eyed him. "Oh, you read _that_ off me too? That my father owned a Citroen and drove it on Sunday afternoons?"

"Uh ..No. Rigsby told me."

"Wayne." She laughed. "He told you all that when he saw your car?"

"Well," He laughed back, pulling out of the yard. "You did."

This, she couldn't argue with, but she did hate the fact that she could never quite get anything over on him. Somehow it just wasn't right.

She'd lost her breath for a moment once she was enclosed inside the car. Patrick watched from the corner of his eye as her hand slid, seemingly on it's own volition, over the console. Patrick wasn't the only one with memories today.

She raised her head, caught him looking at her and then straightened herself, shooting a gaze through the side window.

Well, it _was_ a beautiful day, and it _was_ Saturday. She had intended on planning a few projects for her class, but she supposed she could do that on Sunday. Anything else was a lost cause, regardless, since Patrick and Abbie had already ambushed her before she could do anything about it.

They were turning into the stables when she'd finally recognized the smell she'd detected several minutes ago. "So, are we feeding the horse Chinese?"

"Chinese?" He snickered. "Uh, no. That's for us. Well, Sushi for Abbie. Peanut chicken for you."

"You bought my daughter sushi." She stared at him blankly.

Patrick flipped his chin towards the back seat. Abbie was watching him. "You told me you liked Sushi."

"I do!"

Corin frowned. "You do? Abbie, when have you had sushi?"

"At school. Miss Reynolds brought some stuff to geography one day. Sushi, Indian, and I forgot all the other stuff. But the Sushi was really good!"

"Well, okay then." She gave Patrick a look that said he just wasted his money and didn't bother questioning him about how he knew to get her peanut chicken.

It was around twelve-thirty when they turned into the path that led them to the stables. They grabbed a picnic table that was setup quite a few yards from the stables themselves, aiming to get a bite before Abbie took the horse out.

To her surprise, Abbie scarfed the sushi. She prompted Corin to try it, but seaweed was not something Corin found appealing. She did take one, however, failing in her attempt at hiding the displeasure. Abbie giggled, while an open-mouthed smile stretched across Patrick's face.

"Ah." Corin mused. "I'm glad you two find this so entertaining."

"Meh…It's all in good fun." Patrick shrugged impishly, sliding a piece of sushi in his own mouth. Corin wasn't certain if he actually liked it, or if he was just trying to tease her. It was hard to tell with him.

It wasn't until they were retrieving Apollo that Corin noticed. Patrick was wearing a white button down shirt that blended well with his ruddy complexion. The sleeves were rolled up and the tail tucked into … Jeans?

She knew he couldn't possibly wear dress clothes twenty-four seven, but she'd grown so accustomed to seeing him in them that she didn't think he ever wore anything resembling casual.

Her face flushed a little when he turned around and so she flicked her head over to the side as if she'd heard something that demanded her attention. Her own behavior baffled her, what was that about anyway? She hadn't done anything wrong. Certainly nothing that called for being embarrassed. Perplexed with her own behavior, Corin set her eyes on Abbie, who was leading the horse from the stable and into the yard.

Apollo was beautiful, poised august under the sun, mane smooth, tail draping over his hips and scaling the ground. He could take anyone's breath away.

Abbie looked just as beautiful when she mounted him. A fresh flush of emotion took Corin by surprise when she watched Abbie take control of the reigns, having him go out into the field. She remembered the feeling when Patrick leaned over her shoulder and simply said.

"_Look at your daughter." _

Words that affected her even now. He'd found her Achilles heal without much difficulty at all. Corin cared little of her own happiness, but Abbie's was everything. It really didn't take a mentalist to unwrap that mystery.

Patrick eyed both of them, hands clasped behind his back, freshly assured that he'd done everything right thus far.

He and Corin parked themselves at the picnic table as Abbie rode Apollo nearby, careful to obey her mothers instructions not to stray from their sight.

Corin sighed while fondling her hands. "I've been thinking about something. Something I'm sort of curious about."

Patrick was sitting directly opposite and facing her, he cleared his throat. "Fire away."

"You …" She hesitated, trying to figure out how to word the question. "When you took my purse, you knew what you were looking for. I mean, you know don't you?"

"Yes, I do." He saw the "how?" written on her face so he saved her the trouble of asking.

"You skidded into the lot at the restaurant. I saw you take something from your windshield, some kind of card and then you put it in your purse. You were clenching your purse pretty tightly when you approached me."

"Yea." She murmured. Well, that answered her question. She'd hoped that no one had witnessed that, but really, how could she expect anything different? How could anyone miss a car skidding into a parking lot?

"I was, hoping no one had … Seen that. "

"Mmm …Hard to miss. I wasn't sure, exactly, what it was until Abbie gave me the card you found in the groceries."

She nodded with a distant look in her eye. "He always does this. It's been this way since this all happened. I can't ever forget the date because he always reminds me. "

"With one of these cards?"

"It's random. He sent most of them in the mail. He just … Finds me. I dunno."

He lowered his head a little, lifting his eyes up at her. "But there was something different this time."

"Yea. There's never been two. Always one. I should've known when we were at the store. I went with Abbie to the bathroom and I felt, I dunno, really nervous, creeped out."

She dropped her head. "He must have slipped it in then, maybe in one of the packages and it fell out when I was unpacking them? Sounds far fetched, but I guess all of this does or would if it wasn't happening."

Then she set her gaze into his. It was the obvious next question, but one of which she was terrified. It was one thing that she'd broken down and given Patrick so much information, but another to repeat it. "Are you telling Wayne?"

"You mean, will I insist you tell Wayne?" He corrected and then eyed her seriously. It was that stare that always cut right through her. Clear, blue and intense, it worked far better than any truth serum. He was an enigma in himself. A prankster and an effective interrogator somehow balled into one. A trait that would set anyone off a little.

"Quite frankly, I can't fathom how you've managed to keep it a secret. Ten years, that's a long time to carry this kind of burden. "

"Yea." She nodded again, knowing more than anyone just how heavy it was.

'There is something _I _was curious about, as well."

She hadn't even noticed he'd brushed over her own question. She flicked her eyes across the field, watching Abbie dismount and lead Apollo to the stables and then she answered a with a chuckle. "Fire away."

The gesture made him smile. She was imitating him … _How cute_. "Rigsby never mentioned anything about a slain roommate. Something I'd think would be enormously significant."

"They didn't know." She interrupted. "Pop was adamant that I stay in the dorms. I got the apartment, but they always sent mail to my school mailbox. It worked out just fine because I went home every holiday and for summer vacation. "

She sighed. "So, yea, the story made it to the news, but they always referred to me as the unnamed roommate. By the time Pop and Wayne came to see me on Thanksgiving, I was already back in the dorms - _I couldn't stay in that place_."

"Ah. The unnamed roommate." He smiled softly, then his eyes slanted just a little as his brows subtly drew down. "So you first lied about where you were living, and then ..."

The glint of pain in her eyes almost made him feel bad for mentioning it as she finished the thought. "Then I lied about ... About everything, yea. "

She flicked another glimpse across the field, and then, not thrilled about admitting Patrick had been right about her somewhat scorned childhood, confessed a little reluctantly. "My father wanted a son. And I, I did everything I could to please him, but Wayne was his son. Don't misunderstand me, I love Pop. I love my family. I just ... I tried so hard to be what they wanted, _what he wanted_ ..."

"It's rather stupid now ... Lying about living in a dorm. I was on my own then," She shrugged. "No boundaries. I'd lied about piano, and other things that were frowned on, what harm could this one do? But then I was lying to the police, to Pop, I dunno, maybe lying to myself ... It just snowballed. I couldn't control it."

"A big snowball." He observed, pointing with his index finger.

"Yeah." She admitted somberly.

There was a moment when neither of them spoke, and then she quietly blurted rather unexpectedly."I'm sorry."

His elbows were on the table, hands raised and folded in front of his face. He was studying her. She drew a breath and continued. "I … I was very rude, hounding you about your wife. "

"Oh, that." He answered passively. "It's okay."

"No." She argued. "It's not. I'm really very sorry. I ... I didn't recognize who you were at first. To be honest, you're .. Different. From back then, I mean. "

She was right. He had changed since that day. A switch flipped when he'd read the note and then opened the door every nerve in his body raw and exposed. The dread that washed over him when he viewed the red face on the wall. And then there was a void, a dark, black void where his beloved family used to be.

'I don't … I don't know how you do it either." She noted. "Seeing the things you see every day. I can't imagine."

He nodded, cutting his eyes over to the stables and then responded rather abruptly. "You recognized me eventually, though. In the music room to be exact."

This was very disconnected from her previous comment. She tilted her head a little. She hadn't meant to upset him. Had she? "Yes I did."

"It was in your eyes. And since then, you glance at my left hand occasionally."

She had taken for granted how little escaped his keen vision, and this last observation embarrassed her. She took a swallow of diet coke, catching sight of Abbie approaching from the stables, and then she let out a small nervous laugh under her breath while rolling her eyes a little.

"Was I that obvious?"

He shifted his weight, eyes holding her in a slight seriousness that sent her head in a spin.

"Everything is that obvious to me."

He must have sensed how uncomfortable she was, how could he not? He drummed his hands lightly on the table with a huge boyish grin.

"Whereto now? I was thinking ice cream and then maybe the beach."

He also must have seen Abbie, being that she was close enough to catch the suggestion and all but cheered. "Ice cream? Please mom. Please?"

"You're both awful … Awful!"Corin declared, getting on her feet while hiding a smile. "You're made for each other!"

Twenty minutes later they were cruising the coast licking ice cream cones. They came across a less dense area, pulled in as close as they could and then they proceeded to take a walk. Abbie promptly left her shoes in the car, knowing that although she didn't have her bathing suite, she could still play in the water.

They were strolling down the shore, Abbie running in and out of the waves as far as she could without getting too wet. The gulls swooped overhead in dizzy spins, looping around each other and then diving haphazardly into the water. All of this while the sun was drooping down into the late afternoon sky. She had to admit, this was better than sitting at home staring at paperwork.

Abbie was running back and forth through the tide until she suddenly stopped, staring at Corin with a big grin. She made a running start, dipping her hands into warm salt-water and then throwing it at Corin.

"Abbie!" Corin scolded playfully. This didn't stop her though, knowing the difference between when her mother was really angry and when she was just pretending to be.

She repeated the action until Corin let out a good-humored warning, darting out after her when she didn't comply. Then they were laughing, the three of them while throwing water everywhere until the sun was nearly gone.

"Greif." Corin noted, after the laughter quelled, staring at her feet. "What about your car?

"Ah …it's a car." He said, waving his hand. "That's what the trunk's for."

So, they made their way back to the car. Patrick popped the trunk tossing he and Corin's shoes there. Patrick then proceeded to the passengers side, let Abbie in the back and Corin in the front, shut both the doors and then went around to the drivers side.

Corin stifled a chortle when he lay his bare feet over the gas pedal.

He returned the sentiment with a baffled look. "What?" But the turned up corners of his mouth betrayed him as he started the engine and pulled out.

It was early evening when they reached Corin's home, one that was starting to become more familiar to him. He followed the two, Abbie and Corin inside.

"Okay Abbie. Why don't you go get washed up, and we'll see about dinner."

"Is Patrick gonna eat with us?"

Corin was completely embarrassed. "Well, I…"

Patrick rescued her. "Oh … Thanks but … I should be going."

Corin was looking at Patrick, not noticing where Abbie was standing, but Patrick did. Corin read his face, a sense of dread filling her inside. She turned, slowly. Abbie was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the empty suitcases that were still there from the night before. Corin lost her breath, and Patrick was waiting.

Abbie turned around, hands to her sides. "Mom?"

Corin's mouth was moving, but there was no sound coming from her lips as she stood there, recovering from the shock. She'd completely forgotten about the suitcases. The the child's face reddened as she scowled angrily. "I'm not leaving! I'm not gonna go and you can't make me!"

A bellyful of air escaped from Corin mouth as she blurted. 'Oh Abbie no …No you …It's not what you think honey. Please baby, I can explain …"

'No mom," Abbie declared. "I don't wanna talk. I've got friends, I've got a horse .. I'm not leaving do you hear me?! "

Tears were streaming down the child's face she she turned and stormed off through the hallway slamming the door behind her. Corin was gasping for air, blinking back tears. She slid her hand over her mouth.

She paced for a couple of minutes and then decided resolutely. "I've got to talk to her."

Patrick was watching the whole thing unfold before his eyes thinking this was not how the day was supposed to end. He lay a hand on her shoulder, she had no idea what a calming effect it would have on her.

"Let me talk to her." He pleaded softly.

She looked up, flicking her eyes across his face. Three days ago, she wouldn't have tolerated him being here witnessing all of this. Now he was asking to step into it.

"Please." He asked again.

She sighed. "Alright."

"Don't worry." He assured.

He went to Abbie's door knowing full well that it would be locked. He didn't bother trying the handle. He wrapped his knuckles on it lightly.

"Go away."

He smiled, although Abbie wouldn't see it, but maybe she'd hear it in his voice. "Abbie, it's Patrick. Please let me in."

There was a click and the door creaked open. He entered quietly, gazing down at Abbie who was sniffling while seated on the corner of her bed.

"May I?" He asked, pointing at the empty place beside her.

She gave a nod and he took the cue, moving around her and lowering himself down on the bed next to her. He offered her a handkercheif, then rested his arms on his knees. "You know you really shouldn't yell at your mom."

"I don't. I mean, I never did. I don't say anything. We always move. I don't wanna move anymore."

"Must be hard." He noted. "You can't make any friends that way."

She nodded.

"You know you're Mom's scared. "

"Yea."

"Yea." He repeated. "Sometimes when grownups get scared they don't think straight, they do things in the moment. Then when they calm down, they know they made the wrong decision. Do you know what I'm talking about Abbie?"

He knew she did. Not only had he figured into the equation that children with such backgrounds are often forced to grow up faster than other children, Abbie was bright and sensitive to her environment.

"You know your Mom loves you. Things will be different, you'll see. Go tell her your sorry and give her a hug, okay?"

"Okay." She agreed.

Corin was sitting on the couch when Abbie came out. They looked at each other and then Abbie ran to her, throwing her arms around her. "I'm sorry Mommy. "

"It's okay baby." She crooned, embracing the girl tightly. "Everything's gonna be okay."

She sent Abbie to take her bath and then she and Patrick were left alone in the living room. She rose, scratching the back of her head in puzzlement. "I can't believe this."

"What?"

"This .. You." She muttered. "I don't let people get close to her."

Of course what she wasn't saying was that Corin didn't let people get close to Corin. He understood this clearly. "I know. But maybe it's time you let go a little."

"Maybe." She relented, following him to the door.

He was on the porch when she stepped out, tilting her head. "Did I … Ever even thank you for the horse?"

"Meh. You thanked me for the jewelry, which looks beautiful on you, by the way."

She laughed. "A compliment! I suppose I should save that one since those don't come by often."

He returned her laugh, noting the blush in her cheeks. "Well, I have to temper it with insults so you don't get used to it. You know, a little bullshit in the nice and a little nice in the bullshit."

"I've , uh .. Never heard it put that way before." She chuckled. "Well, for the record … Thank you for the horse."

"Appreciation." He teased. "I suppose I should save that as well."

"Touche"

He caught sight of Abbie standing in the living room, smiled and then relinquished.

"You're welcome."

He stepped from the porch, started his car, and then he was gone.

* * *

**A/N - I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving! While I don't like influencing my readers minds in regards to a story and risk giving things away, I will say this. I wouldn't necessarily make any assumptions here. **

**Anyway, just wanted to acknowledge, wow and the list is getting larger - so cool!**

**Much thanks - as always to Masquerade Witch, Idlecrush, Amber Cloud, ( who has a couple of fics of her own) Blood Zephyr, and Late March for your continued interest! It's great when people review, it's AWESOME when people keep doing so!! **

**Also a big thanks to new reviewers, Jesus Freak and Elle Knight and a thanks to Penmenships who reviewed anonymously. You guys are all awesome!**

**There's fifteen of you who have me on alert and ten who have me favorited!! This just makes me so happy! **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the following as well. Also, check it out, there's now eight mentalist fiction stories on , so make sure and cisit them and show them some love as well! Just don't forget to review this one and let me know what you think!  
**

**Here's my latest vid, with a song I think fits Patrick and Corin pretty well!**

**.com/watch?v=SzdGwQbOY2M**

**Thank you idleCrush for your compliment!:) Enjoy everyone!**


	7. Red Monday

**A/N - I am adding this at the head rather than at the end, due to the drama this chapter sort of quickly throws into. As always, assume nothing and take everything at face value - as far as things that may or may not happen. _Just for fun, the name McFadden means son of Patrick. I just thought it was funny!_ Thank you for the latest reviews! TenshiNanashi - you're very perceptive. ;) IdleCrush, yes, she does seem to be warming up to the idea of putting down roots. Penmenships, thank you so much! Late March, bless your heart!!! MasqueradeWitch and Blood Zephyr, thank you so much for your continuous reviews, they mean alot to me! Guys, feel free to let me know if you notice grammatical/spelling mistakes. I hope my lurkers will review soon, as well, so I can know what you think! And onto the chapter ...Whew, hang on folks. **

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Red Monday**

"Good morning children." Patrick Jane uttered as he sauntered into the CBI, with an armful of croissants.

Lisbon looked up from her desk. "You're late."

"Oh," He muttered. "They had to bake the pastries, sorry."

He wasn't really that late at all, by about three or four minutes. What she really meant was that he hadn't just failed to be meticulously prompt, he hadn't shown up a few minutes early as per his usual routine. He mulled over her observation carefully, deciding that he should consider breaking the habit so as to not have her accustomed to it.

"Really?" She responded, with a hint of harmless sarcasm in her voice. "Did they grind the wheat too?"

"Ha Ha. You're very funny in the morning." He jested, placing the box of warm croissants on her desk. Why not set them there since she was decisively the most articulate at the moment?

"Hum, they look good."

"Glad you approve."

"Hey guys, what's up?" Wayne greeted the three, Jane, Lisbon and Van Pelt as he came through the door. He sniffed out food right away, heading over to Lisbon's desk and then frowning, turned up his nose. "Croissants?"

"Yes." Jane answered. "What?"

"Well, nothin …What happened to donuts or muffins?"

"More for me then." Cho shrugged, coming in from behind Rigsby. He snatched a pastry and then he frowned as well. "Where's the grape?"

"Grape what?"

Cho looked at Jane with the same straight face he used during interrogations. "The grape jelly. You had to ask?"

"Well, no, actually."

"Cho, there's some grape jelly in the fridge. Okay?" Van Pelt eventually blurted, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

Then Rigsby pulled his phone from his pocket. "Yello."

He turned towards his desk, holding a croissant in his other hand. "Um, what? "

He turned around again, slowly, flicking a gaze over to Jane. "Uh, okay, well he's right here." He lifted a perplexed eyebrow, reflecting an acute expression of suspicion as he walked over to Jane and handed him the phone. "It's for you."

Jane mouthed '_Me?' _as he pointed to himself and then took the phone in his hand. "Hello."

"Um, Hi."

"Corin." He beamed, nodding off to Rigsby and headed to his desk.

Rigsby watched him, jaw dropped. Just what was it about that man? He tells him to stay away from his sister and now Jane walks away from him talking to her on Rigsby's own cell phone.

"What's that about9?" Lisbon asked.

Van Pelt grinned mischievously. "That is Rigsby's sister calling Jane on Rigsby's cell."

"What?" Cho walked back in, clenching a half eaten donut.

"Cute." Lisbon smirked.

"Donut? Where'd ya get that?"

Cho stared at Rigsby and then shrugged. "Break room. No grape jelly. Oh, no more donuts either."

"Damn." Rigsby sighed, halfway to the break room.

Corin knew this phone call was going to be awkward, but she would try to work through it anyway. Something churned in her stomach when he said her name. "Um, Hi. I … Didn't know how else to reach you."

"Oh, that's okay." He shrugged. "Besides, it makes for good office gossip."

There was a moment of silence and then she drew a breath. "Okay, well …Wayne is coming over Sunday afternoon. He's going to grill out. Some steaks, chicken or hamburgers maybe …"

"Yes?" He was smiling again, knowing the question, but he was going to let her struggle with it.

"Abbie wanted to invite you to come."

"Oh." He trailed his finger along his desk, eyes twinkling. "_Abbie_ wanted to invite me."

She rattled her fingers on her own desk, staring at the chalkboard a couple of minutes before she finally conceded. "I …alright … _I'm_ inviting you."

"Are you?"

"You're gonna make this difficult aren't you?" Sure he was. He was the type who enjoyed making a person sweat a little.

To her surprise, he laughed, setting her on edge a little. "I'll be there." He agreed and then hung up the phone. She'd only just slipped the cell in her purse when it rang again. She checked the number, but didn't recognize it. "Hello?"

"Now you have my number." Said Patrick on the other end, and then there was a click.

She was unconsciously smiling when her students filtered in and it did not go unnoticed. She straightened herself, once she discovered the random glances bouncing back and forth between her and other students as they leaned in and whispered to each other.

Then she cleared her throat and addressed her class, catching herself occasionally stealing a glimpse at her purse.

Two-thirty could not have come fast enough, but when it did, she watched the room clear and then she swept her purse over her shoulder dashing through the door. She was halfway to her car when stopped by one of the professors who'd visited her several weeks ago, prior to meeting Wayne at the seafood restaurant.

"Good afternoon Miss Rigsby." He was tall and slender, the mustache under his nose looked more like a line drawn over his lip.

"Mr. McFadden."

"Miss Rigsby… Or, may I call you Corin?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. Corin. I understand your feelings, which you expressed quite adequately, and your concerns, while they may appear well founded, are not warranted. The board has considered mine and my colleagues recommendation, along with your experience, knowledge and education. They agree with us, your strengths greatly outnumber your weaknesses and I strongly urge you to rethink our offer."

_Well, he hadn't beaten around the bush, had he? _She thought to herself, while studying him intensely. He didn't know her. He didn't know why she'd kept herself from being involved with projects and job opportunities that might give her more exposure than she was willing to accept. Junior Assistant to the head of music and lead pianist in the orchestra was more than she'd have expected anyone to ever offer, given that, at face value, her credentials fell short of such a position. At least in her mind anyway.

"I know the high school has, and would, benefit extensively from you're knowledge and talent, but well, bluntly, why waste your time when you could be using the full extent of your abilities elsewhere? Don't answer that, you and I both know I'm right."

This was an offer anyone in her position would starve for. Not even touching on the fact that he wasn't a man known for revisiting a prospect. She'd been working under the radar for years, with various schools, making suggestions and helping them build their music departments. This was like a gold platter at her feet, her mind throbbed with the potential of such an opportunity.

"_Maybe it's time you let go a little."_

Damn, why was his voice in her head? But then, there was some truth to it, wasn't there? Abbie was happier than Corin had seen her in a long time. She'd made honor roll on her last report card, she was bonding with the other children and with Wayne too since they were living closer together now.

She relaxed her pose a little, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze. "Okay, so if I say yes. If I agree, then what?"

"Then the board will see you Monday morning at 8 am. I'm sure you can make arrangements."

"Well I …I didn't …"

"Be prompt Corin, I don't make recommendations haphazardly."

With that Mr. McFadden left her standing in the parking lot, watching him leave. After a few minutes she left as well, jumping into her car and driving out into the intersection. School traffic was always something she tried to avoid, but she couldn't get out early enough this time.

She managed to get to Abbie before she was excessively late. She scooped her up and then drove directly to the house. They'd no time for visiting Apollo today, Wayne would probably be waiting for them.

They found him on the porch, slouched over on the swing and staring out through the yard. She pulled up, and got out.

"Uncle Wayne!" Abbie squealed, flying from the passengers side and into his arms.

"Heyas squirt, how was school?"

"I got a gold star today! The teacher put it up on the door!"

"Seriously? Was anyone jealous?"

"I think so." She nodded. "But I don't care."

"Sure you don't." He rubbed her head. "They can earn their own, right?"

Corin stepped up and leaned in. Wayne took her elbow as she pecked him on the cheek.

"Did you wait long?"

'Na," He answered. "Just got here a few minutes ago."

"Have you eaten anything? We've got some leftover spaghetti in the fridge. Salad, garlic bread."

"Sure, that'd be great!" He smiled. "After I fix the sink."

"You know, I can get a plumber if your arm is bothering you."

"Don't be ridiculous. The arm is fine. It was just a minor burn, no problem."

"Okay, I'm just sayin."

"Well, don't" With that, he was inside the house and skimming the floor until he'd reached the kitchen. He bent down and shoved himself under the sink. The repair only took about ten or fifteen minutes, and then he was washing his hands, anticipating filling his hungry stomach.

"Abbie's taking her bath." Corin announced. "Help me set the table. I'll warm this all up and she should be finished by then."

"Sure." He responded, grabbing plates from the cabinet. "So, I heard you invited Jane to come over on Sunday."

"Um, yea, I guess I did."

"Seriously? You invited Jane to come eat with us?"

She blinked confusion, raising herself from putting out the silverware. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Na. No problem at all, " He denied. "But I'm inviting Grace."

"Grace?"

"Well, yea, if you can invite Jane I can invite Grace … Right?"

This prompted a full blown laugh.

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "What?"

She ran into the kitchen when the microwave beeped, grabbed a couple of pot holders and delivered the spaghetti to the dining room table. "Well, Wayne. Boy, girl, boy girl? I mean it's gonna so totally look like a date."

"A date? No..." Not that he wouldn't have asked her on a date, he just, didn't quite know how. "Okay, well … Then I'll ask Cho to come too."

"Then you're gonna leave Theresa out."

"Fine, I'll just invite them all." He grinned. "How bout that?"

"What? Ow!" She stuck her finger in her mouth having accidentally touched it to the hot casserole dish.

"Yea, that's a great idea!" He concluded, getting the bread from the oven. "We'll have them all over! "

"Wait …Hang on … We?"

"What? Oh come on, it'll be fun! We'll eat and then watch the game."

She wanted to remind him that this was _her_ house, but _she_ was reminded, instead, that _he _was the one who helped her get it. Everything on the market was far beyond her budget, but he'd managed to make some connections. It was a perfect house for her and Abbie, and she could hardly say no to Wayne when they were face to face.

Besides, Abbie would soon join the two of them and then they would tag team her. She sighed, shook her head and then agreed. "Alright. Invite them all …Hey, invite the whole California PD!"

'Now, don't be like that." He said kissing her on the head. "It'll be fun, and we'll all have a good time. Don't worry, there'll be no messes."

"Right."

Saturday rolled by lazily. She and Abbie shopped for groceries, cleaned the house and of course spent some time at the stables. She couldn't lie to herself whenever they were there. Apollo had done more for Abbie than she could have ever imagined. And knowing how much it meant to her, Corin felt a little guilty denying the child for this long. After all, she, if anyone, could relate to being restricted from doing the things she loved the most. This was something she'd been adamant about, never imposing on her future children's interests. Then, as if fate were laughing at her, she found herself doing that very thing to Abbie. Not something she'd found palatable by any means.

They left the stables by late afternoon, and returned home. Corin worked on papers while Abbie watched television. The phone rang. Grace called to see if she could bring anything, but Corin told her just to bring herself and that would be enough. Never in a million years would Corin have thought she'd be hosting any kind of social event, but now, here she was, getting more domesticated by the hour.

Saturday melted into Sunday. Mother and daughter spent a good part of it making another sweep to be certain the house was in order, and they had everything they needed.

Wayne appeared an hour early to setup the grill before the guests arrived. Which they did, all promptly, except for Cho, who slid in a few minutes later than the rest of the group. He apologized and then reintroduced himself to Corin, sticking out his hand. "Hi, I'm Ken."

"Yea." She laughed, sliding her hand in his. "I … Have a vague recollection. The view's a little better now."

He laughed, and she noticed how when he did, his face sort of glowed. An odd contrast to the straight face he was carrying when he first walked in.

Disregarding Corin's previous objections, no one came empty handed. Both Ken and Patrick brought a bottle of red wine. Grace brought a dessert and Teresa potato salad. Wayne had snagged a large folding table, setting it up nicely in the back yard. There was a wide cooler filled with ice and beer along with soft drinks propped up next to the table.

Abbie had been beaming with anticipation all day and all but broke out in giggles when everyone sat down to eat. She perched herself on the end beside Patrick, while Corin sat opposite, Wayne next to her and Grace next to Wayne. Ken and Teresa were on the same side as Patrick opposite of Wayne and Grace.

"You have a beautiful home, Corin. Thanks for having us." Teresa offered after the long span of silence brought on by mouths being stuffed with gobs of hamburgers and steaks, potato salad, green salad and other such goodies.

"You're welcome." Corin responded, painfully aware of Patrick studying her with a great amount of interest. "Actually, I'm … Glad you're here."

"Patrick, do a trick!" Abbie piped up as if on cue.

"Sure," He agreed. "But only if you can get your Mom to help me."

Abbie batted her long, dark lashes. "Please mom?"

Everyone was looking at her, and equally, everyone noticed the pink fading into her cheeks. She eventually blew out a breath. "Okay. What do I do?"

"Excellent." Patrick displayed the same roguish grin that had thrown her that first day on the beach. "Take this coin. I'm going to turn around and you just simply put the coin in one hand. Now, I need you to place that hand on top of your head until I tell you to put it down again. Then I'll turn around and tell you which hand holds the coin."

She took the coin from him, while maintaining eye contact, unable to control the smile on her face. He thought he'd seen something behind it, like maybe a hint of familiarity.

He twirled himself around, facing the yard, while Corin looked at Abbie and winked. She closed her hand over the coin, and then put both hands on top of her head.

After about thirty seconds or so, Patrick instructed her to lower her hand, which she did, and then he turned around again. "I will now tell you which hand has the hidden the coin."

He studied her hands for a couple of moments, then flicked his eyes up to hers, his mouth twirling up at the corners. "You did put the hand on your head, right?"

"Yes I did." She smiled. "What's wrong? Tell me where the coin is … Or don't you know?"

Then his eyes narrowed. "Did you put both hands on your head?"

"Ye..e..e..s." Abbie giggled.

"Oh," Corin snickered. "Well, you didn't say I couldn't put both."

"Alright then, put the one only, and we'll do this again."

She laughed to herself as she slid a hand up on her head and waited for him to tell her to put it down as he turned back to her. This time he'd noticed the difference, but he also had guessed that perhaps she knew the trick. So, he took her left hand, opposite of the one he would normally pick, opened it and found it empty.

He shook his head. He should have guessed it. She knew she'd given herself away the first time, that she did in fact know the trick, and logically, she knew he would assume her next move would be to put the coin opposite of the obvious hand. Thus, it made sense that the only thing for her to do would be to play it straight this time to throw him off. Which meant the coin was in her right hand, the one she'd lain on top of her head.

She laughed. "And I did it right that time! I told you I know all the bar tricks."

"And so you did." He admitted, eying her half-amusedly.

Teresa, Wayne and the other two flicked gazes at each other, feeling something of a third wheel as they'd watched the entire thing unfold before their eyes. The three, Abbie, Corin and Patrick seemed to be floating in their own world, having their own spoken and unspoken conversation, broken only when Wayne stood abruptly. "Hey, the games gonna be on in about ten minutes."

"How much you put on it?" Kendall inquired, grabbing his plate and tossing it in the garbage.

"Enough." Wayne responded. "And that's all you're gettin, until I get my winnings."

"You mean if you win, right?"

"You wish." And then they all cleared the table.

Wayne and Kendall settled themselves on the couch in the living room, while Patrick spent a few minutes with Abbie, and then they joined in on the game as well. That left Corin, Grace and Teresa to chat for a while in the kitchen.

"Do either of you drink wine?" Corin asked, opening the wine cabinet.

"Uh, No thank you." Teresa replied.

"No, I don't drink at all." Corin should have known that. While Grace typically wore snug fitting clothes, her lifestyle seemed quite conservative. If Corin had to guess she would assume her to be a good little catholic girl, no drinking or smoking. There was nothing wrong with it, and Corin supposed her quaintness merely served only to keep Wayne's attention. He was even more attracted to her.

"Okay. Well, I'll open a bottle anyway."

"That was pretty good, getting over on Jane like that." Grace mused, sipping her diet soda.

"Whoop! Hell yea!" Wayne yelled from the living room, Ken echoing him.

"It's just a bar trick," Corin replied, pouring a glass of wine. "It only works if you put the coin in your hand and then hold it over your head. It's because that hand will be paler when you put the two together again. It's simple."

"Clever."

"Only if you don't know how it works. Of course he didn't think anyone did."

"Nope." Teresa echoed with another smirk, gulping another swallow of beer. 'Well, thank you again Corin. It was really nice of you to do this for us. You should come out with us more often."

"You're welcome, and maybe I will." Corin watched her make her way to the door, Patrick rose, hands in pockets and tagged along behind her.

"It's so weird." She finished her thought out loud, causing Grace to look at her as if to say, what?

"Why does he always walk around with his hands in his pockets like that?"

"I don't know." Grace laughed. "Why does he always wear the same shoes?"

"I don't know." Corin echoed her laugh, and then they made their way to the living room.

Grace slipped down into the couch, settling into the corner. Wayne was on the edge of the other end, Kendall in the middle. Both men were absorbed in the game. Abbie was snuggled drowsily in the overstuffed chair farthest from the door.

Corin sighed, standing behind the couch and thinking how nice everything turned out, even though she'd resisted profusely. She'd missed a lot by being a recluse. Smiling, she snuck behind them and headed out onto the porch.

The swing was all but begging her to sit and enjoy the breeze. So, she did, lowering herself down and staring out into the sky. While California is generally very populated, this area was not so dense, and the streetlights weren't so distracting for stargazers. She hadn't looked for long, however, before she spotted Patrick strolling across the ground. He stepped up on the porch, gazing at her unassumingly.

She looked up at him. "I thought you'd left."

"Na." He answered. "I would've said so."

He inched forwards and so she scooted on the end, letting him join her. He steadied his eyes on her and then drew a breath. "So, what's bothering you?"

She turned her head to him, opened her mouth but then realized it was pointless to counter the question. "I … I got a job offer."

"And that's a bother?"

"I … No. Actually, it's … It's better than I expected I'd ever have come my way."

"Mmm …" Patrick nodded. He understood perfectly, but he wanted to hear it from her.

"They want me to come to the university. Junior Assistant to Head of Music and lead Pianist in the orchestra."

"Oh." He nodded, both brows raised. "That's impressive. _Really_ impressive."

She stared straight, and he studied her before tilting his head. "You haven't told Rigsby, obviously. "

"No." She confessed. "But here I am telling you."

"Yes. Here you are." He leaned forwards, in a little towards her. "Are you going to let one event define you? Set the precedent for the rest of your life? I hope not."

He watched her run her finger around the wine glass, realizing that, judging by the scent, it was from the bottle he'd given her. She felt that sudden rush of dizziness when he'd leaned towards her. And she knew it wasn't just the wine. "You want to get rid of that snowball? You can, and only you. "

Out of context, the entire statement would have been hilarious, but it only served to drape another layer of somberness in her expression as she turned her head, finding her eyes trapped inside his. She shuddered a bit when the boys yelled from inside, the game obviously climaxing to a higher level.

Patrick saw it in her eyes, that he had reached her. She stared at him for a moment and then handed him the glass. She quietly rose, opening the door, ambling into the living room. Wayne turned around, registering the look on her face, but she spoke before he could say anything.

"I … I got a job offer."

"What? Really? From where?"

Abbie popped her head up as well, curious and cautiously listening, thinking this meant another move. Corin smiled a little, holding back the dampness in her eyes. _Damn emotion,_ _it was embarrassing. _

She drew in her lips and then spilled the info. "Professor McFadden, from the university."

"Our university? Here?" Wayne was moving around the couch towards her.

"Yes." She nodded. "He, um, recommended me to the board and they agreed. They want me to come on as Junior Assistant head of music and lead pianist for the orchestra."

"What? Are you serious? Corin, that's incredible! That's … I can't believe it!"

He reached her at full speed, grabbing and holding her there firmly while laughing from sheer joy. Then he pulled away, holding onto her arms as he stared into her eyes. "You are taking it?"

Her mouth twitched at first and then reached a full blown smile. "I'm supposed to meet with them tomorrow morning."

He embraced her again, and by this time Abbie had lept from the chair as well and then the three of them were standing in their living room, Kendall, Grace and Patrick observing the little family embracing and sharing a happy moment. A pure, unspoiled, sweet moment when everything was right in the world and nothing bad could happen now.

It was nearly nine, Grace and Kendall had already politely excused themselves, leaving Patrick and Wayne behind. Corin sent Abbie to bed and the two men helped her clean up the rest of the garbage. Wayne was in the yard, searching for empty beer bottles and folding up the table. Patrick was on his way to excusing himself as well when Corin stopped him. "Oh, wait a minute before I forget."

He turned, eying her inquisitively. She shot him a quirky smile and then went into the front closet. "I, um, well, these are for you."

She handed him a box that indicated she'd just given him a pair of shoes, but it was a funny gift, so he passed off the thought - until he opened the box. Then he laughed. A Patrick laugh was fun to watch, full and animated, his cheeks would turn even rosier while his eyes danced.

"Well. " She said. "I kinda noticed you …Wayne doesn't like to go shopping for them either. And then it's even harder to get him to wear socks."

He chuckled, thinking she was such a mother. "And you knew my shoe-size."

"Well, " She teased. "I might not be able to read minds, but, I am a woman. I know shoes."

"Good point." They were standing there looking at each other when Wayne came back in.

"What's goin on?" He asked, flicking glances between them.

"Oh, I was just leaving." Patrick answered, saying goodnight and walking out.

Wayne soon followed after and then she was alone again, in her quiet house. She locked the door, then rinsed out the wine glass in the kitchen sink. The evening had gone better than she expected. The family's house was always filled with people when she was a kid. If it wasn't a birthday, then it was Thanksgiving or Christmas, Easter. Then, of course football games. Now, standing in the silence, she realized she'd forgotten, and perhaps missed the sound of voices filling the rooms. People talking and laughing, enjoying themselves.

It was ten o'clock, and she stepped into the bathroom, took a shower and then slipped into her pajamas. She got a drink of water, peeked in on Abbie as was her normal routine, and then made her way to her own bedroom. She fingered the sage blanket for a moment before folding the covers back on the bed. She lay her head on the pillow and then she was sleeping. The crickets were chirping outside under a full moon. The house was peaceful, while Corin and Abbie slept as if nothing could ever touch them.

It was Monday. Patrick started his day with coffee, black was the norm. He was in the office earlier than normal. Lisbon was surprised to find him standing outside when she pulled up.

"Well, look at you. Tryin to make up for yesterday huh? "

"Oh, just woke up early." He grinned over dramatically.

"Nice shoes." She commented as they went through the doors.

"Oh, yea, shoes." He rambled, trailing behind her.

The day was lazy like that, without the usual excitement. There were a couple of cases that needed to be wrapped up, but by lunch, Lisbon was guessing that he would probably be able to take the second half off. He was smiling to himself, thinking of stopping by the school to check in on Corin, when he felt the cell buzzing in his pocket.

He stopped his turn, at the edge of the parking lot, sliding the phone from his belt. He recognized the number. "Hi. How did it go at the university?"

There was silence. He heard a familiar sound, a fish tank humming in the background.

"Corin?"

More silence, but he could hear her breathing. It was sharp, staggered breaths, with large gaps in between. Then she screamed. A blood-curdling shriek that sent chills through him.

"Corin, talk to me." He ordered her, pressing the gas and cursing the fact that he was driving a car with very little pickup. "Come on, take a breath, breathe. Everything's going to be okay, do you hear me? Talk to me."

He heard the phone slip from her hand and then crash onto the floor. Adrenaline kicked in as his turn escalated into a sharp skid, eyes wide with a gnawing sense of foreboding.

_He knew where to go. _

His wheels were eating the ground beneath them when he reached her yard. He came to a sharp stop, flying out of the drivers side and surveying the area. Her car was there, but the door was still wide open. He sucked in air, letting his eyes trail off to the front porch. The front door was open too. He sprinted from the car to the porch, but then stopped at the edge, staring into the house.

_He'd been here before. _

He pushed the door open a little more, feeling a tightness in his chest. Then he took a step into the house. He was afraid to call out to her, afraid of what he was going to discover somewhere there.

He was dragging breaths, as he crept over the hardwood floor. He remembered where he'd put the gun the night she'd pulled it on him. He'd set it on the swing, but after everything was over, and Corin was sleeping soundly on the couch, he'd went back and placed it securely in the small hidden panel just beside the front closet.

He wasn't supposed to carry a gun. _He didn't care. _He opened the panel and slid the weapon out into his hand. He continued his quiet trek across the living room and into the hallway that led to the kitchen and then to Abbie's room.

_He stared at the door. _

He was frozen in his own flashback of a long hallway, with an ominous door waiting for him at the end. A door that obscured behind it the worst horror anyone could imagine. The dead bodies of his loved ones. It was the same door he'd loved before. The one he'd shared with his wife and daughter before they were slain by Red John. The door that led to their bedroom, and the same room he'd slept in for the past five years.

His heart wasn't even beating anymore, or so it seemed, while he fixed his eyes on Abbie's door. The one he was gawking at in the here and now, terrified to break past. He was sucking in short heaves of air, then he stuck his hand out and pushed on it. The creak was painfully loud and disturbing as the door slowly gave way and opened for him.

He saw them at the same time. The flashback of the red-smiley face on the wall, drawn so meticulously over the bodies of his wife and child, simultaneously with the one he was staring at in the here and now. A fresh stain of red dripping down the wall. A crimson stain smiling at him, taunting him.

First you see the face, and then you feel the dread. Knowing the horror you're about to look on. He let his eyes scale the wall and then settle on the bed.

He shook, staring at them curled up there, hands frozen at his sides. Corin was wrapped around Abbie, motionless. He swallowed, head spinning worse than he remembered and now he felt sick.

"Hold it right there!" Patrick swung around at the voice behind him, stiffly throwing his hands up, clenching the gun between them.

"Whoa. Back up, Jane, it's just me!" Rigsby spurted, staring shell shocked at the bewildered and disheveled Patrick Jane.

Then, as Patrick lowered the gun, Wayne's face was turning a sickly pale green as his eyes strayed to the wall and then to the scene under it. Eyes threatening to spill over, he managed a pitiful murmur.

"Oh My God."


	8. Red Rum Not Like This

**Chapter 8 - Red Rum - **_Not Like This_**  
**

_Five Hours Earlier …_

She thought she'd fuss over what to wear, but when it came down to the decision, Corin simply picked out a nice conservative outfit, not too eye-catching, took her shower and then dressed.

She set the plates from this mornings breakfast in the dishwasher and then grabbed her keys, Abbie in tow beside her.

"Now don't be nervous." Abbie encouraged, after they'd arrived by the child's school.

Corin smiled. "Yes Mom. I'll try not to."

_Abbie loved it when Corin said things like that. _

"Do you have everything? All your books? Your homework?"

"Uhhuh." Abbie nodded.

Corin was gazing at her daughter, thinking again just how beautiful she was. It was moments like these that got her dwelling on the day they'd first seen each other. When after all the pain and agony, cursing and screaming, the nurse took the small bundle of miracle and lay her on Corin's chest. She settled her eyes into those tiny, innocent ones and nothing else mattered. Whatever was in the past was gone, this fragile bundle wrapped up in her arms was Corin's future now. And then she'd just simply crooned her name. It was natural, as if she'd always known it.

_Abigail. _

"I have to go." Abbie murmured, recognizing the glazed over expression plastered on Corin's face.

"Yes." Corin smiled, and then she swept a palm across the side of Abbie's head. "I love you sweetheart."

Abbie leaned in and squeezed Corin around the waist. "I love you too Mom."

And then Corin was watching her little girl walk away from her, book bag dangling from her shoulder.

Corin had already made arrangements for her class. She would keep her eight o'clock meeting with Mr. McFadden and the board and then she would relieve the sub assigned to her students during her absence, if there was one. If not, then she would just wait in the empty room until the next scheduled class.

Mr. McFadden seemed genuinely pleased to see her. He shook her hand and then led her to the boardroom. Quite the intimidating ordeal, but Corin handled it. The butterflies in her stomach hardly seemed warranted once she realized that they had already made up their minds. This meeting was not for determining if she'd be accepted or not, but rather to instruct her in regard to her duties, and to get her acquainted with the staff.

She left the university thinking she was in an elaborate dream and that any minute she would wakeup and find that there was no such offer and maybe there wasn't even a Mr. McFadden.

Whichever it was, it couldn't have been any sweeter. She would remain in her current position for the rest of the semester, while working with the university in preparation for the move. She would then start the next semester in her new position.

She was rolling this all in her head as she stepped into her current classroom with a light bounce that the students couldn't help but notice. The substitute raised his head, smiled and then removed himself after a couple of minutes of chitchat.

She watched him leave and then addressed the room. "Good morning class! I'm hoping you all did your homework because we're having a pop quiz as of right now."

She said this through a white smile that prompted a groan from the class. She passed out the test anyway, and then she took a seat at her desk. She'd decided to mull over the next study material when the ring tone from the cell bleated from her purse. The room was so quiet, she nearly jumped out of her chair. _Hadn't she turned that thing off? _

A quick glance, as she reached into the side pocket of the purse, assured her that the tone had not disrupted the students.

She didn't know why she did it. Ordinarily she would have promptly switched the ringer off, sending any future calls to voice mail. But, for some reason, she answered it this time. She glanced at the incoming call, with no recollection of the number on the display, frowned, put it to her ear and then whispered. "Hello?"

"Mom?"

It was Abbie. Corin froze for a moment, why would Abbie call her from school? Was she sick? Corin rolled her eyes around in her head considering the possibilities, and then rose, moving towards the corner of the room. She kept her voice low as she responded.

"What is it, honey?"

"He says to tell you …G … Goodbye."

Her face instantly paled to a chalky white. As far as Corin knew, no one and nothing else existed in that moment. She gasped as her heart plummeted to her feet like lead.

"A …Abbie."

"Mommy."

She was gasping now, in short heavy bursts of air. "Abbie, where are you? … Abbie? Abbie talk to me!"

She flipped around, ignoring the curious eyeballing. "Abbie?"

_Then the phone went dead. _

She was hovering over her desk, hand lingering over her purse - and she was frozen. She held her breath, acutely aware of the blood pulsing in her ears.

"Ms. Rigsby .. Are you alright?" It was a single voice, one tainted with sincere concern. The other students were staring at her, some of them open mouthed, others just blinking, wide-eyed at what was developing before them.

Corin didn't see any of them anymore. She said nothing else as she snatched the purse and tumbled out into the hallway.

"Ms. Rigsby?" The same student called, trying to keep up.

There were other voices behind her, but she couldn't hear them. The only thing ringing in her ears was the sound of her child.

_"He says to tell you …G … Goodbye."_

Blood thumping through her veins, she was in a full run now, throwing back the double- doors. She raced across the parking lot, a small crowd forming behind her, as she threw herself into the car and skidded out into the highway.

She didn't care about the speed limit or who was in her way. She ran every red-light she could get away with, and didn't pause for any stop signs. Within ten minutes she was storming into Abbie's classroom, two faculty members on her heels.

_The room was empty. _

"Ms. Rigsby. Can we help you? Are you alright?"

Corin flipped around, glaring at the two of them, she didn't have time for the bullshit. "Where's my daughter?! Where's Abbie?!"

"It's noon. The children are all at lunch."

'Lunch?" She echoed, and then stomped off towards the cafeteria.

"Ms. Rigsby, wait. Please. We can't have you running around our halls like this. Please, stop and let's talk about this."

Corin ignored them still, crossing the passageway between buildings and barging her way into the cafeteria. "Abbie?!"

She was stopped abruptly when a strong hand wrapped around her arm, flinging her backwards. She jerked herself around flicking an incensed glance over him . . . "Get your hands off me!"

"Calm down." He ordered in a low, steady tone. "And I'll do just that."

The cafeteria had diminished from the usual buzz of chatter and giggles to a stony silence as they all observed the scene unfolding before their eyes. The man, a tall, imposing gentleman with grey peeking out from the sides of his carefully trimmed hair, was eying her carefully while keeping a firm grasp on her shoulder. This was Mr. Hammond, the school principle.

"I'll calm down, when you bring me my daughter!" Corin spat, veins bulging from her neck. "Where is she?! Because she's not in this room or she would have answered me by now!"

He flicked a warm, brown eyed gaze over the crowd, letting the truth of that observation sink in. He returned his attention to Corin. He'd spoken to her on occasion and knew that she was not unhinged by nature. She could be a little standoffish at times, but he'd chalked that up to her simply being a private person. He drew a breath, hoping to settle her down a notch or two. "Okay. I'm sure Abbie is fine, Ms. Rigsby. It looks to me that her class has already left the cafeteria, which means they're out on the playground."

"Mr. Hammond." Another faculty member called, discreetly slipping up beside him. Corin couldn't hear what she'd said exactly, but she could see it in her eyes, and then she read Mr. Hammond's expression.

"You don't know where she is, do you?!" She cried out, a fresh throb of panic surging through her. "You lost my daughter?! "

"Come with me Ms. Rigsby. We'll figure this out, I know Abbie is fine. Just come with me."

"The hell I will!" She cried out, yanking herself from his grasp. Eyes red rimmed with anger, she was all but foaming at the mouth when she spat. "You'd better pray she's alright Mr. Hammond, because if she isn't, I'm gonna be in your face until you pay!

The cafeteria started buzzing again as everyone watched her dart out through the cafeteria doors and disappear. Mr. Hammond stared and then he made a hurried dash to his office. Once the door was shut behind him, he grabbed the phone. "Yes, this is an emergency, I need an officer please."

Corin's head was aching as she stormed out into the parking lot and jumped into her car. Eyes flicking back and forth in her head, the conversation was relentlessly tormenting her mind.

"_Hello?" _

"_Mom?"_

"_What is it, honey?" _

"_He says to tell you …G … Goodbye."_

"_A …Abbie."_

"_Mommy."_

"_Abbie, where are you? … Abbie? Abbie talk to me!"_

"_Abbie?"_

**CLICK**

What was that sound? What was it? A hum, a low hum. She'd heard it in the background, it was so quiet, aside from Abbie's soft voice. The gentle, steady, hum of a pump. The sort of pump you'd find in a fish tank. The light went off in her head with a blinding madness. She started the engine, flooring the gas and leaving another set of black lines behind her …

She knew where to find Abbie.

She reached the house in what seemed to be a matter of minutes. She tumbled out of her car, nearly falling before she stood upright. She stared at the house. Then she sprinted to the door. It looked normal. There was no note, nothing out of the ordinary, just her house, the way she'd left it early that morning. Then she cursed, she'd forgotten the keys and had left them hanging from the steering wheel. She turned, grazing her hand across the door and then learned she didn't need the keys.

_The door was unlocked. _

She closed her eyes and swallowed. "Abbie?"

She entered the front room, keenly aware of the sound of her heel clapping against the smooth hardwood floor. A click and a squeak of the wood giving way a little under pressure. Had the air thickened inside since she'd left?

She whispered her daughters name again, "Abbie" as she moved through the living room and into the small hallway that separated the kitchen and Abbie's room. A heavy feeling swept over her, threatening to knock her off her feet when she approached the child's door.

She raised her hand, lightly spreading her fingers over the cool wood, staring at the little red-flowered sign. '_Kids only, No Grown-ups Allowed.'_

Her purse was attached to her, she'd thrown the handle over her neck so that the strap crossed the opposite shoulder, while it hung under her arm. Her hand strayed to the side pocket and then she was unconsciously dialing. Patrick picked up quickly, his voice a bit perkier than normal.

"_Hi. How did it go at the university?"_

It was his voice that gave her the strength to push on the door.

"_Corin?"_

She was dragging sharp, staggered breaths, with large gaps in between, trying desperately to control the terror that gripped her.

_The door opened. _

The fish tank hummed in the stillness as loudly as mortar shells exploding all around her. The writing was there, on the wall, represented by a large, bloody smile fashioned starkly against the creamy white painted wall. Her eyes trailed the wall downwards, having seen the face, knowing what had happened and feeling the ominous sense of dread.

_There was her baby. _

Abbie was flat on her back on top of the bedding, arms folded, feet straight. She was wearing a white dress, and it was stained with dark red. Her eyes were closed.

There was a slow buildup, like the prelude to a sneeze, as a deep tremor rippled through her stomach, coursing through her body in waves. And then Corin drew a long, hard breath, releasing it into the most chilling, heartrending scream anyone has ever heard.

"_Corin, talk to me." _

The phone slid from her hand and crashed into the hardwood floor with a loud clacking noise. It remained there, still open, Patrick's voice pouring out of the receiver.

"_Come on, take a breath, breathe. Everything's going to be okay, do you hear me? Talk to me."_

That was five hours ago. Five hours when the world seemed like it would finally start moving for her. Finally releasing peace and stability into her and Abbie's lives.

Patrick and Wayne were standing by the door, gawking at the other end of the room, where lie Corin and Abbie, tangled together on top of the full-sized bed. They were still, the mark of Red John smiling above them.

"Oh My God." Wayne groaned again, the horrific scene washing over him like glass filled water. He couldn't possibly number the many times he'd been called to a murder scene. No hope of measuring the amount of time he'd spent seeing things he wished he didn't have to. And he was able to do it because he knew he was helping set the world straight. Bringing justice into the lives of the victims, instead of the black void the murderer always left behind.

Never had he imagined he would be in the middle of it this way. _Not this way. _

Cho was behind him, unblinkingly staring at the face on the wall, and then the bed with a stern look spread across his face.

_This was too personal now. _

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room and no one could breathe in or out. The tension was beyond just unbearable, it was torture as they stood there grappling with the scene spread before them like a bad art display.

Then, just as the tension climaxed, there was a whimper. A whimper and a slow shudder of Corin's body that made them all jump.

"Oh My God!" Wayne blurted again, louder this time. "Corin?!"

She raised herself up a little, failing to acknowledge anyone else was there, and then drew the child's body close to her, starting a slow rock, back and forth, back and forth. She pushed the little girl's fine brown hair back from her face and then kissed her on the head.

Cho turned for a moment, he knew this had to be called in. In a low voice he sent in the call to dispatch securing an ambulance and officers. He then stuck his hand out and clenched onto Wayne's shoulder when he noticed his partner starting out towards the bed.

"Hang on a sec."

Corin seemed as if she didn't know anyone else was there. She was clinging tightly to Abbie and muttering disconnected words, sentences.

Patrick was sick. It was all happening again, just as it had before and he couldn't do anything, he was helpless to stop it. He was helpless to stop Red John and while he would never let on to anyone, this left him with a heightened sense of powerlessness.

The Emergency crew arrived and found them all just the way they'd been since the moment they'd entered the room. Corin was holding Abbie, and the three men were watching her as if neither of them had ever walked into a crime scene before.

Corin responded subtly, tipping them off that she'd at least acknowledged the presence of the EMT, but the way she drew back towards the wall, tightening her grip on Abbie, told them it was not going to be an easy chore for them to pry her away.

"Corin." Wayne choked, taking a step forwards. "You've got to let her go. They've got to take her."

She was trembling, the entire bed shaking with her. "No! They can't …Nobody's going to …No!"

Patrick put his hand on Wayne's chest. Wayne wrenched his head around as if he were about to punch him, but Patrick stood firm, holding a steady gaze on him. "Please."

"Let him try." Cho concurred, staring empathetically at his friend. Wayne nodded.

Patrick stepped up to the bed, and then squatted down next to her. He tried to speak over the sharp pain in his chest. He couldn't let his own emotion get in the way and so he took control of his mind, resting his eyes on her and touching her arm.

"Corin." He whispered.

"S …She's still warm. " She raised her head a little, Abbie's hair stuck to her tear-filled cheeks. The tremble in her voice was more than he could bear.

"I know." He answered, brushing a couple of strands from her mouth. "Corin, look at me."

She resisted at first, clenching her eyes shut and groaning out another painful sob. He flexed the muscle in his hand, keeping it light on her arm, his voice smooth and calming. "Look at me."

He thought he would cry too when she finally relented and lifted her eyes, lashes soaked and dripping, to his. Steadying himself he continued.

"You have to let her go."

"No …She's still warm. She's still …"

He used to lie to people to swindle them out of their money. He used to con them for fame and sharp-looking suites. Now he conned people to get them to confess to their crimes, or to get evidence. He never thought he'd have to con someone like this.

_Not like this._

But still, although he was melting on the inside, his face was steady and his eyes focused. He nodded, feeling a pang of guilt as he said slowly drawing out his words for the effect. "Okay …. Okay then … If that's true ... They can't help her if you don't let go. You want them to help her … Yes? "

He waited, eying her cautiously, hoping she would respond the way they needed her to. He noticed her grip loosening a little, she blinked and nodded slowly as she whispered. "Yes."

"Good." He took her hand in his and she gripped him hard, fear etched on her face in lines.

'It's okay." He assured with the same steady, warm voice he'd been using, sliding the other hand under her elbow. "Come on."

And then they were standing together, the macabre scene made more horrific by the red blotched in spots soaked deeply into her outfit. Wayne was holding his breath and Kendall winced.

Patrick gave the EMT's a look that said don't do anything until he'd steered her clear of the room. He led her past Wayne and Ken, and into the hallway. When they reached the living room, the emergency crew rushed in. She started to turn, but he quickly braced her, his hand on her back, continuing to nudge her forwards until they'd reached her bedroom. He prodded her inside and then he shut the door.

He lingered, facing the door for several seconds before he turned around. His heart was breaking. She was a sorrowful mess. He prompted her to sit on the corner of the bed, while he decided on what he should do next. Obviously, it was to get her cleaned up.

He noted the bathroom, took her hand and then led her there, perching her on the toilet seat. He dampened a couple of wash clothes and then returned. He spent a few minutes wiping the blood from her hands and face, then he went into her closet. He had never been shy or coy about such things. People wore clothes, men and women alike. It was as simple as that.

He removed a pair of pants and a green top from the closet, and then returned to her.

"Put these on, okay?" He stepped out, closing the door behind him.

She'd been in there for about ten minutes before he decided to check in on her. He rapped on the door. "Corin, are you alright?"

No answer, although he thought he'd heard a pitiful sigh. He flicked his eyes over the door and then said with resolve. 'I'm coming in."

He'd hoped she was dressed, but he knew better than to leave her alone in there for long. He was able to get into other people's heads in nearly any circumstance, but this one he knew from first-hand experience. He turned the handle, and opened the door.

Her bloodied suit was crumpled on the acrylic floor and she was sitting on the toilet staring numbly into space.

"That's better." He hated the sound of his own voice now. _That's better? _How? Her daughter was dead. Her daughter was slain mercilessly by some bastard who deserved more than even Patrick himself could deliver. A slow death by being methodically skinned alive without anesthesia wasn't enough. No punishment was deserving for this son of a bitch, this animal.

He steadied his thoughts, knowing that he had to keep her calm, and then took her by the hand.

They were back in the bedroom when Wayne entered through the door. He was staring at her helplessly, unable to eek out a single word. But his eyes said everything he could not.

Patrick watched him move across the floor until he was near her. He embraced her, but she barely acknowledged him, Patrick knew the response well. The five stages of grief, how could anyone label such an enormous affliction? How could anyone even attempt such an absurd thing?

Corin raised her head over Wayne's shoulder, and then she pulled back, eyes wide. Both men glanced through the doorway and felt a hardness in the pits of their stomachs. They were wheeling Abbie away, her body zipped up inside a black bag.

"Abbie?" She called pitifully, and then she was moving in zombie like fashion through the doorway, into the living room. "Abbie?"

They were on her heels, trying to pull her back, but she broke from them, chasing the stretcher through the front room and down the stairs.

"Abbie!"

"Corin wait! Oh God, wait!" Wayne yelled, close behind her.

She broke through the front door, strode across the porch and then tripped down the steps, landing on her hip into the soft grass. Wayne was beside her, he lowered himself down, but she quickly rebounded, on her feet nearly as soon as she'd hit the ground.

She was in a drunken sprint now, stumbling through the yard as they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance. Wayne managed to catch her arm, holding her momentarily, then she broke free. She chased the ambulance through the yard and into the street, stopping halfway down the pavement. She was standing in the middle of the road, watching the ambulance disappear while she screamed and cried after it.

Teresa and Grace were just turning into the yard when the ambulance was pulling out. They jumped out of the car and along with Ken and Patrick watched the ambulance move into the street, Corin chasing it and Wayne chasing after her.

Lisbon shot a look at Jane. He dropped his head. "Abbie …ahm … " And then his voice dropped off.

Lisbon had never seen Jane at a loss for words before, neither had she found anything strong enough to hold him back from speaking his mind. The fact that he was so tight-lipped now, so profoundly effected by whatever had happened, was enough to tell her that this was bad. _Really bad. _As bad as the day Red John murdered his wife and daughter.

Wayne skidded across the asphalt when he planted his feet down behind Corin. She flipped around and then they were staring at each other. Her mouth was gaped open, hands out in a gesture that said she was confused and unable to figure out what to do next.

He moved closer, taking one of her hands and then clumsily touched her face with his other hand. Then he wrapped his arms around her, as they stood there in the middle of the street.

Lisbon looked at Cho, as if mentally asking him what happened. Cho was observing the brother and sister, thinking that his worst fear had come true. He'd found himself in the middle of a crime against one of his own, and he didn't like it very much. He responded never taking his eyes from Wayne and Corin.

"It was Red John."

Van Pelt gasped, shooting a glance at Jane. "Red John? How ..What does he got to do with …What happened?"

"Abbie's dead." Jane stated bluntly, unable to look any of them in the eye.

The announcement sounded like thunder to their ears. Cho closed his eyes when Jane said it. Van Pelt's mouth dropped open. Lisbon studied Cho a moment, a startled expression lining her forehead as her gaze strayed from Cho to Jane.

She didn't need to ask or probe to know. The look in his eyes and the way his clenched jaw worked under his skin told her that it wasn't a hoax this time. Not an amateur wannabe, a copycat looking to hide under the folklore that was Red John - as the psychiatrist had.

No, this was the real deal.

Wayne and Corin were walking back from the street, the other three staring at them, no one able to come up with anything to say once they were within earshot.

Corin was standing numbly beside Wayne, hardly acknowledging anyone else was there.

Wayne glanced up at Patrick. His brows were drawn together as he studied the man. They would have to go back in the house. They would have to go over it with a fine toothed comb. His sisters house. How could this have happened? Why did it happen? Why was Jane there before anyone else?

"Corin." Lisbon spoke first. "I'm so sorry, but, well … We're gonna need to ask questions."

"The questions can wait." Both Patrick and Wayne blurted simultaneously, then Wayne flashed a subtle scowl at Patrick.

"What?" Patrick responded. He shifted his weight and then added. "If you've got something to say, then say it."

"What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Patrick echoed, staring at Wayne as if he were insane.

"Yea **Patrick, **what are _you_ doing here? You were here before any of us were … How is that?" Wayne's face was starting to display an angry distortion.

Cho stepped up between them, anticipating a sudden close in the gap, aiming to interfere before it got out of hand. "Whoa, hey guys …This is pointless. Just calm down here."

"No." Wayne insisted. "No, I wanna know! You were with me, Cho. When I got all those calls, between the school about Corin walking out on her class and then the call from Abbie's school. He was here way before us."

He flicked another angry glance at Patrick. "So, you gonna tell me what happened here? How you'd be here instead of me? "

"I called him." Corin answered blandly. She'd been ignoring them, hardly aware they were even there.

"What? Why would you do that? "

"Hey, this isn't getting anyone anywhere." Lisbon jumped in.

"No! I wanna know!" Wayne demanded, glaring at Corin. "You've been playing mommy and daddy to Abbie with this guy for weeks now, but funny, I don't remember you getting married!"

"Rigsby, that's enough!" Grace yelled.

"NO, it's not nearly!" Wayne growled, throwing his hands in the air. "Not nearly! You knew she was missing Corin! You knew and you couldn't call me! You called _him _instead? I'm your brother damn it! _Your brother!_"

"Yes I did!!" Corin screamed, face tight with anger. 'I did. And I did it because I trusted him! "

She suddenly flipped around and glared at Patrick. "I told you!! I begged you not to force me … But you had to know it all, you couldn't let it alone!! You couldn't let us alone!"

"What the hell are you talkin about?!"

'The lie, Wayne, **the lie**. The big fat lie!! HE just **had** to know and it was the only thing keeping us safe! Oh God, I should have never listened to you, I should have never come back here .. NEVER!"

"And I should have never listened to you!" She went back to yelling at Patrick.

She was gasping, eyes flicking over their faces, feeling trapped and unable to breath. She was shaking, clenching her hands tight. "It doesn't matter anymore, NONE of it. I don't care, I just don't care, do you hear me?! Just … Just leave me alone! All of you!! All of you!!!"

Her feet were moving, carrying her swiftly across the ground.

"Corin, wait. Wait!" Wayne went after her. He tried to grab her, but she wrenched herself free. Her car door was still open. She darted through it, finding the keys dangling from the wheel. She set the locks, him yelling at her from the outside. Then she started the engine and floored the gas.

Wayne jumped out of the way, the others watching with mouths dropped open as she dug holes in the ground screeching into the street and then disappeared. He turned, making a mad dash towards Patrick, his face red and sweaty. "What the hell was she talkin about Jane?! What lie?! What the hell kind of secret could she tell you that she couldn't tell me?! Huh?!"

He stood there, working his jaw and then blustered as he stuck his finger out. "If she gets herself hurt out there, has an accident .. I swear Jane!"

Then he was in his own car, tearing out after her.

Lisbon raised her eyes, mulling over the previous dialog. "He's right about one thing, she's gonna get herself killed out there if we don't find her."

"I got her plate." Cho added, thinking he was being helpful.

"Good." Lisbon acknowledged, eying Jane. "Then call it in. Tell them to go easy on her, just bring her in and stick her in one of the interrogation rooms until we get there."

She sidled up to Patrick, noting the way his eyes lingered past the yard and into the street. "So, you wanna tell me what that was all about?"

He slid his keys from his pocket, jungling them a bit. "Not really." And then he went to his car.


	9. Scarlet Thread

**Chapter 9 - Scarlet Thread**

_He slid the key in the lock, entered, tossing the mail on the table and then he shut the door behind him. The house was quiet, but he didn't really pay much attention to it, not as much as he would later, after everything was said and done. _

_He brushed the small bicycle from the middle of the floor, and then ascended the stairs leading up to the narrow hallway in a feathery gait, mulling over what he and his family might do for the evening. He smiled, spotting a note attached to the door, thinking he wasn't the only one making plans. Perhaps his wife had sent their daughter to the babysitters, leaving the whole house to themselves. Perhaps that's why it was so quiet. _

_Anticipation churning inside, he imagined, with each step, his wife waiting for him on the other side of the door. She would be wearing a feminine negligee maybe. There would be music and wine. He would open the door and find her gazing at him with big eyes and a teasing smile. _

_He traveled the thin strip of hallway with a large grin that drifted to a straight stare once he'd reached the bedroom door. His straight-faced stare melted to an expression of sickening dread when he realized the note was not from his wife. _

_Dear Mr. Jane,_

_I do not like to be slandered in the_

_media. Especially by a dirty money-_

_grubbing fraud. _

_If you were a real psychic instead of a _

_dishonest little worm, you _

_wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've _

_done to your lovely wife and daughter. _

The long road proved increasingly empty as the streetlights diminished under a darkened, moonless sky. Patrick had been driving around for hours, after first maneuvering along the beach and unsuccessfully coming up empty handed. He was searching for the metallic, chrome Mazda he'd grown so accustomed to over the past couple of months.

He hoped he would find it parked somewhere around the outer edges of the pedestrian walkway, or perhaps by the white picket fence near the place he'd first met Corin and Abbie. When he didn't locate her or the car, he knew Corin was serious about not wanting to be found. Either that or she _had _actually caused an accident. The latter thought didn't do much to settle his stomach.

He was relieved, however, when he took the call from Jason, the stable boy. Jason was making rounds, later than usual when he'd noticed a car parked just outside of the stalls.

There shouldn't have been any cars there at all, but he recognized it and knew, once he'd seen her, that he was not the one to handle the situation.

The thought _had_ crossed Patrick's mind to try the stables, but he'd wondered if that were also too easy.

It was well after ten and pushing towards eleven. Patrick really didn't want to call Rigsby, but it was better than letting the man wander the city crazed and out of his mind with worry. So, he gave him a rang while driving, explaining that he'd gotten word on Corin's whereabouts, and then did his best to convince Wayne to let him handle it.

This was not easy but, it was in the end not surprising, _all things considered_, his case was convincing enough and Rigsby reluctantly conceded. When it came down to it, Wayne had developed a tremendous amount of respect for the man, and he wasn't blind either … Having already witnessed Patrick's growing bond with his sister. A feat he'd never witnessed anyone accomplish until now.

Besides, who would know better about what was going through Corin's mind than someone like Jane? So, Wayne swallowed the lump in his throat and agreed to standby while Patrick tried to calm down his sister.

Jane drove slowly through the path leading to the stalls, trying not to startle the animals, and then he made the rest of the way by foot. It was dark, and nothing was moving. Strange how calm everything was, even the horses, as if the universe, itself, was grieving the horrific tragedy that had just taken place.

Apollo gave a little snort, the loudest sound above the crickets chirping softly somewhere in the blackness, when the flaxen-haired man stuck his head over the gate.

Patrick drew a breath, Corin was there, just as James said, knees curled to her chin, sitting pressed as closely to the corner of the back wall as she could manage. She was a pale effigy, staring, unblinkingly into the yellow hay. Her voice threw him a little when she finally muttered without looking up.

"What do I do?"

He sighed, opening the gate and carefully moving towards her. He slowly shed his jacket, reaching around and dropping it across her shoulders.

"Nothing."

Then he was nudging her to her feet without meeting any resistance. "I'm going to take you home now."

She hadn't so much as whimpered really, on the way to the car. This was opposite of the headstrong willfulness to which he'd grown accustomed. He'd set out to break her all along, but not like this. He simply wanted to get past her defenses, a mild version of the Taming of the Shrew, but now it seemed she didn't have any defenses left. Now, she was just a trembling, vulnerable thing, shivering under the warmth of his jacket, submitting to him so easily that he nearly accepted the guilt creeping up on him from the back of his mind.

She let him walk her soberly to the door and then, at his prompting, lowered herself into the seat. Then he shut the door behind her, and made his way to the drivers side. He paused, noting the expression on her face before starting the engine. It was a shadow of the same look she'd allowed to slip out the first time she was in his car. The day he, Corin and Abbie spent driving along the beach.

He held back a sigh, forcing himself to check the mirrors and then drove out from the stables into the street. Corin was so quiet and still that he found himself having to glance to the side to make sure she was really there. He wasn't even convinced she was breathing.

She startled him a little when she flicked her head towards the backseat. The gesture sent his mind reeling with memory like an old black and white movie.

"_Chinese?" He snickered. "Uh, no. That's for us. Well, Sushi for Abbie. Peanut chicken for you."_

"_You bought my daughter sushi." She stared at him blankly._

_Patrick flipped his chin towards the back seat. Abbie was watching him. "You told me you liked Sushi."_

"_I do!"_

_Corin frowned. "You do? Abbie, when have you had sushi?"_

"_At school. Miss Reynolds brought some stuff to geography one day. Sushi, Indian, and I forgot all the other stuff. But the Sushi was really good!"_

"There's no streetlights." Corin whispered blankly. The otherwise meaningless observation went through him like a cold chill. _He understood. _Here she was, vulnerable and alone with a man in the dark. Of course this was bringing everything back. Her defenses even lower than they'd been on that night, the night this had all started. The night a strange man had driven her past the security of a well lit path and beyond the city limits into a deserted, wooded area - where no one could hear or see anything.

He turned his head with a soft smile lining his face. "Don't worry, you're safe. There's light up ahead."

He was telling her the truth, there was light up ahead. They were crossing the path of a tattered stop sign and beyond that were more traveled streets. The ones crossed by strings of power lines and red lights.

He flicked his eyes over her and then rested the palm of his hand over hers. It remained there for a moment or two until she drew back, folding her arms and leaning sideways into the door.

The oncoming streetlights drew closer, until they were flashing past, illuminating her face bleakly with cold flickers of white light.

He handled her just as carefully when they reached her house. He walked around the car and opened the door, then took her by the arm, gently nudging her to her feet. She paused again at the front steps, staring at the door.

"I could take you to Rigsby's." He offered. "Or Van Pelt's. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

It wasn't necessarily what he wanted, given that neither one could possibly understand, as well as he, just what might be going through her head. None of his comrades could ever fathom the loss as poignantly. And while they would be awkward and unsure, easily disturbed by what she might potentially say or do, there was nothing that would shock him. Realistically, there was nothing she could do that he probably hadn't already done or tried himself.

He would have the gumption to let her grieve without interfering or holding her back while thinking he was just helping her. He was wise enough to know, now, that you have to feel the pain before it gets better. Something that good intentioned people never quite grasp.

He never thought he'd be in such a position, observing from the outside as if looking at his own reflection in the mirror. Watching her stare at her own home as if it were a haunted house, just as he had the first time he'd walked in the door alone, knowing he would be alone for a very long time … If not for forever.

And while he'd noted the hesitancy to enter, displayed so noticeably through her body language, he couldn't take her to his home either. His home had ceased to be such on the day Red John took everything from him. Now it was just a place to sit when there was nowhere else to go.

_An empty shell of a structure once alive and vibrant, but now dead and skeletal._

He couldn't help wondering if this would also be her fate? He'd be damned if he'd let that happen. _He wasn't going to let her end up like him._

She offered no verbal response as she raised a foot and planted it like lead on the first step, and then the second until she was at the door. There was a flash in her mind, remembering when she'd accidentally swept her hand across and it opened. The recollection of her heel on the wood combined with the squeak of it giving a little under her feet did nothing to relieve her.

She stepped into her house, quiet and somber, Patrick falling in behind and closing the door. He noticed how her eyes trailed along the floor, through the living room and to the small hallway to the left, and then he steered her towards the bedroom.

"You should get into your pajamas." He prompted. She shifted her eyes, but then offered no argument, submitting to him like a child to a parent and disappeared into the bedroom.

He watched her go into the bathroom and then he made his way into the kitchen, toting a small bag he'd lifted from the backseat of his car. This was something he'd long intended on bringing her, but hadn't actually done so until now.

He opened the brown bag, revealing a copper tea kettle, which he promptly filled with water and set on the stove top, turning the dial to high.

The pine cabinets were simple, but elegant, with delicate vines etched into the outer facing. He liked them very much. Taking one of the small, iron knobs between his fingers, he swung the door back a little and reached into the cupboard, withdrawing two standard sized mugs. They would have to do since Corin didn't have any teacups. He placed a teabag in each one.

His head wrenched up towards the door when he heard the crash. He tore out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the bedroom. He could hear the sobbing then. Long, deep moans that hacked through him deeper than any knife ever could.

The bathroom door was open. He found her there, slumped upright upon the closed toilet seat. She'd managed to change into flannel pajamas, and now she was hunched over, clenching a large bottle of pills.

The bathroom was a mess. It seemed she'd had a moment of rage, although oddly enough, this wasn't a bad sign. The shower curtain was ripped on one side and bottles were scattered everywhere, a couple of them open and oozing out pearly white liquid.

She'd shattered the mirrored, cabinet door above the faucet by what appeared to have been a white, ceramic cup, probably used for rinsing after brushing her teeth, which was resting in thick chunks among the broken mirror at the bottom of the sink. Shards of silver glinted back at him in broken fragments of light.

Then another memory blurred clear in his head.

_He was alone in the kitchen, staring at the silver faucet, as pieces of sunlight flickered off of it from the window above. The house was quiet. There was no smiling wife there to warm him or the sound of little feet scurrying around on the linoleum floor followed by giggles that sounded like bells. There was nothing left but vast emptiness. _

_An unforgiving, indiscriminate void where there was once the closest thing to heaven he thought he'd ever have. _

_He found the grief morphing inside him. The deep sadness intensified until it had peaked into a boiling rage. The rage vomited out of him in one long sweep of outward expression. _

_He tore his kitchen apart. He swung his arms around over the counter, shattering glass and throwing the dish rack across the room. When he stopped, he'd found himself surrounded by a mangled mess of glass, silverware and drops of blood from a couple of cuts on his hands. The torn out, filled in coloring book pages, that had once lined his refrigerator door, stared at him from the floor, under a splatter of flour and sugar._

He blinked at the image spinning around in his head, fresh as if it had just happened, and then squatted down, settling an empathetic gaze into Corin's eyes. Even now, he didn't regret it. Pursuing her until she'd told him her secret, until she'd learned to start trusting him.

Even after all of this, he wouldn't have done anything different, and he knew that somewhere inside her, she agreed with him. That she knew it couldn't have been any other way. He wrapped a hand around the bottle of pills and then slid a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to his. "What are you gonna do with this? Hmm? "

She let him take it from her. It was nothing but an over the counter drug, an anti-inflammatory blended with an antihistamine. It wasn't as if it were a narcotic, but still potentially dangerous if one were to be stupid or apathetic enough to take all of them.

He tossed the pills into the sink, ignoring the small crashing sound it made when it hit the glass and ceramic, and then he took her by the elbow. She flinched when the tea kettle went off.

"Ah, that's just the kettle." He assured, and then he walked her into the living room.

She'd settled into the corner of the couch, farthest from the door, when he'd returned from the kitchen, tea kettle and both mugs with him. She nestled in, curling her feet under her and giving him a disapproving look when he put a warm cup of liquid in her hands. But he grinned anyway, taking some encouragement through the smallest hint of revolt in her eyes.

"It's tea." He explained. "And it's good for you."

He experienced a fragment of gratification when she put the lip of the cup to her mouth and took a couple of sips before resting it on the coaster again.

"See?" He encouraged. "Not so bad."

He watched her stand again, ignoring him and gazing over her home as if she were lost. Her eyes fell on the bookshelf, and it didn't take him long to know why.

It wasn't a large photo album. Small compared to most. It's pale, lavender spine was protruding from the others in a way that was hard to ignore. She stepped towards it, while he observed quietly, and then she reached for it.

She flipped it open, slowly pacing as she scanned the pages, murmuring comments about each one. "This was when she rode her first horse." "This was when I took her to see The Little Mermaid."

He rose when she started talking, taking the comments as a prompt to show interest. He looked at each one, nodding and smiling a little.

She flipped another page, and then he bent over to pick up the card that had fallen out from the back of the album. He felt the small round device between his fingers before he caught a look at the front. His thumb sliding between the two sides instinctively, he absentmindedly opened it. He closed his eyes when Abbie's voice poured from it.

_Oh God_, it was one of those recordable cards, one that allowed a person to leave his or her own voice as a greeting for the recipient. And, a mother's day card!

Patrick mentally scolded himself, he was usually more on his game than this.

Corin's jaw dropped. She snatched the card from him, striding across the room until she was slumped into the overstuffed chair. Her fingers traced the squared off edges and then she opened it another time. Abbie's voice came out of it, filling the room as if the child were there with them.

_It had been exactly Forty-Eight hours since the murders of his wife and child. The yellow crime-scene tape was still wrapped around his bedroom, and Patrick had not slept. He wasn't even hungry. He was sitting alone, staring at the wall when the phone rang. _

_He was thrown into a flurry of confusion at first, swinging his head around and jumping to his feet. He'd heard his wife and daughters voices, sprang up, whirled around and called their names. The intrusive beep followed and then the phone solicitor responded._

_Patrick ran fingers through his hair, grabbed the phone and growled a gob of nonsense, making sure to add that his wife and child had just been mercilessly slaughtered and the only interest he had was to string up the man who'd done it by the balls._

"Did he …. " Corin's fragmented question stabbed at the memory flash, one of many and certainly probably one of many more to come. Regardless, he knew what she meant without hearing the entire thought. Had this man, this sick, disgusting pervert, done other things to the child before the end?

"No." He whispered, and she seemed to believe him as she nodded acknowledgment.

_Thankfully, It wasn't a lie. _

The sound of the phone startled them both. It was the land line. Patrick stood, aiming to appease it's pestering whine, ignoring the look on her face that said leave it be. They were alike in this way, never doing things just because they were told or because it was expected. He took the receiver. "Hello."

"Who is this?" It was a man's voice, somewhat brusque and definitely older.

"This is Patrick Jane, who is this?"

"Oh." Said the man. "You work with my son, Wayne. He did say you were there..."

The catch in his voice was evident, cuing that he'd already heard the news.

"Yes sir, I do." Patrick responded, clearly discerning the purpose of the call. He paced himself over to Corin, covered the phone with his hand and then leaned in a little.

"It's for you."

She eyeballed him, shaking her head as he stuck his ear back to the receiver in time to hear her father thanking him for staying with her. The gesture humbled Patrick more than anything ever had. He cleared his throat, and then offered. "Anything I can do is no sacrifice on my part, sir. I know you're anxious to talk to Corin. Here she is."

He shoved the phone in her hand. "It's your father."

She released a look of both terror and relief, then she stuck the phone to her ear while Patrick meandered towards the window. He stared out into the night, listening. Corin didn't seem to care much.

"Pop." She whispered, and then her voice cracked, "Daddy."

A subtle change from an expected distant show of respect to a touching display of intimacy.

Patrick took special note, perceiving it as an encouraging sign. She was still there beneath the tangled ball of nerves that he'd been working to soothe for the past couple of hours.

She listened to her father's voice, white knuckling the phone as if waiting for a chance to speak again. She stared at Patrick and when the voice on the other end stopped, she gulped a breath of air. "Daddy, I have … I've got to tell you something."

Patrick was glancing out into the yard, but the turn of conversation startled him enough to wrench his head back towards the living room.

The man already knew about the fate of his granddaughter. It would stand to reason, then, that this was not the secret she was about to unveil. That left only one possibility. Was she really about to tell him everything about her past? The truth about how she'd come to have Abbie in the first place?

_This was far more than he'd anticipated. _

He was frozen, waiting for the next words. Corin met Patrick's gaze with her own and then it was confirmed. She opened her mouth, details of the secret she'd kept from him, from her father, spilling out in broken fragments, gushing out of her into the receiver.

He was too impressed with her to even think about any self-gratification. He'd sensed her strength all along, even from the odd discourse on the beach. But now, he was simply amazed, and though he'd never admit just how deeply … He was profoundly moved.

She'd only needed someone to see her, and Patrick did see her. He saw her when they'd met, and he saw her now. Even under the wounded, grieving person gushing the contents of her anguish over the phone. He just wanted to look into her eyes and tell her. "I see you." But, something told him that she already knew.

It was clear, during the course of conversation, that Corin's father was blaming himself.

Corin was, of course, blaming herself.

It was insane and ultimately very sad, close to pathetic. A baffling, head scratching, phenomena. Victims nearly always accept responsibility for things they simply cannot control, crimes of which they are not responsible. Why is the victim always paying while the criminal gets to walk around free to repeatedly terrorize and then gloat over how clever and untouchable he is?

Patrick was no fool, mind you. Sure, he'd played the blame game at first. Initially, believing that it was his own words, his arrogance, that killed his family. But now, he was thinking straight. He knew who to blame, and it was not himself, Corin, or anyone else other than the killer.

This was Red John's doing. His and his alone, and while he might be somewhere stroking his ego at what a successful showman he was, the axe would fall someday. And when it did, Patrick would be holding the handle.

This was the thought that kept him going, that drove him to the CBI in the first place.

He stared out of the window for a few minutes before he eventually placed himself on the other end of the couch. Corin didn't seem to care much at all while she continued her conversation with a hint of relief in her voice.

Confession was a good thing, and he assumed that it was not something she'd much experience with. This made him all the more enamored. She thought she was weak and vulnerable, and was just discovering she was stronger than she realized. Stronger than she'd been given credit or given herself credit for.

The call ended after an hour or so. Patrick took the phone and set it on its base, and then returned to the couch. He didn't entertain talking to her about what had just transpired. He, surprisingly for him, didn't try to pry anything from her at all. He, instead, noticed her mug was empty and without a word, tipped the kettle over, pouring another cupful of tea inside and then offered it to her. She looked at him, sighed and then accepted it.

It was hard to tell just what she would do or say next. But he tried to read her as best he could, choosing every word methodically, purposely avoiding the usual ignorant gas that other people might naturally offer in the name of condolence and good will.

He remembered what it was like to be surrounded by the sympathetic crowd. The people who cast trite gazes at you like you are something to be pitied Eyes that view you as a walking tragedy.

They sputter propaganda such as, _'they're in a better place now_' or '_everything will work out for the best_' followed with a sad look accompanied by a pat on the back or the cute squeeze of a hand. So cute he wanted to squeeze back and see how it felt.

Well, none of them had ever walked into what he had, what Corin had. Yes, these people thought they meant well, but they did nothing for him and that's why he avoided them. He didn't want or need their pity, and neither did she.

Her fingers were curled around the mug that was not quite as warm as it had been, but not yet cold either. She'd been staring into the golden brown liquid as it swirled around in a tiny whirlpool. She'd told her father everything, how she'd lied to him about living off campus and then to the man who'd abducted, forced himself on her and then killed her roommate.

Patrick had waited, patiently, until he saw in her expression that she was preparing something in her head, some thought, nearing escape, but not quite ready just yet. She swallowed, and then noted somberly. "I told him."

"Yes." Patrick nodded. "Yes, you did."

"No, I mean, I told him."

"Yes."

She nodded slowly, as if agreeing with him, a dull realization glazing over in her eyes.

"Do you think Wayne will forgive me?"

She knew that now, she would have to lay everything out on the table for her brother as well. This was a secret she could no longer hover over, guarding like someone concealing a disgusting, grotesque monster in the basement. Half out of fear of the monster and half out of disgrace for it being there in the first place. Yes, the truth was coming out and she could either sit helplessly in it, or gain some small dignity in speaking it herself.

The question ripped Patrick's heart into a million pieces. Holding his eyes confidently into hers, he rose from the couch and then squatted down before her. He spoke in quiet assertion when he was certain he'd earned her full attention. "It's not your fault."

She nodded, but she obviously wasn't accepting it. He steadied his gaze on her and repeated. "It's not your fault."

She was affected a little deeper this time, and she whimpered along with a nod until he grasped her shoulders. "Corin … It's not your fault."

This time, her face twitched under the intense emotion writhing under her skin, unable to keep the large, crystal tears spilling from her eyes. This was what she needed to hear, and he knew it. She dropped her head into his shoulder and sobbed until she was dry, and then she leaned back into the chair, drawing her legs up under her.

He squeezed her hand gently, and then he was on his feet. He picked up the tea kettle and mugs and delivered them to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he was leaned back in the couch, just as he had been before, watching Corin fiddle with the edging of the overstuffed chair. Her lazy, drooping eyes marked impending sleep.

He smiled a little, observing her, and then he closed his eyes.

He wakened from a sound sleep, one he'd slipped into while settling too comfortably into the couch. He was alone and that didn't make him feel too easy. Yet, he only needed to see that the front door was still locked from the inside and then he knew where she was. It didn't take a genius, or even a mind reader, just a human being with half a brain.

He turned the corridor as if he belonged there, instinctively, as if he'd done so a thousand times before. He was rewarded when he encountered the closed door where hung a red flowered sign that read 'Kids only, No Grown-ups Allowed.'

He hesitated a moment.

It was a strange thing to have in common, but there it was and no one else could ever grasp it, this bond between them. He stared at the red sign, thinking of the painful irony, saw another flash of red in his mind, and then he opened the door.

The fish tank was still humming and bubbling a steady trickle of water. The stuffed animals were piled in the corner, as well as a stethoscope. It was funny in a way. Most parents would have bought their child a toy medical kit, but Corin allowed Abbie the real instrument.

He'd imagined they had already gone through the whole 'let's listen to each others heartbeat' bit when the instrument was new and Abbie's interest in it was at its highest peak.

Corin had taken Abbie's fascination seriously, encouraging her to explore what interested her the most. Another parent might have pushed a little girl towards dancing or even piano, considering Corin was so inclined that way, but she had given Abbie the gift of choosing for herself. He supposed it was residual issues from her own childhood that prompted her to do such a thing. A way to set right the perceived lack of support from her own parents.

He let his eyes stray from the outside of the room to the center, focusing on that damned red circle with a smile etched upon it. It reminded him of the t-shirt design that came out in the eighties or maybe it was the nineties. A simple smiley face with a bullet hole in the middle of it's forehead in addition to the caption "Have a Nice Day." under it.

If he had one of those shirts now he would rend it with his bare hands, stomp on and then burn it. At the least, he could strangle Red John with it, satisfying himself by feeling the life slowly drain out of him. And then he would release his body to crumble in a heap on the floor.

_Have a nice day._

Effecting as the picture was, the image under the face stirred Patrick the most. Partially because it simply broke his heart, but also because he'd found himself identifying with it so poignantly that it hurt.

The bed had been stripped, leaving only the mattress - which had been untouched by the previously horrific scene. It reflected back in his eyes serving only to remind him even more.

_It was the third day and the yellow caution tape remained, marking the crime scene. He'd not yet been able to muster the strength to venture upstairs, and so he'd spent every moment until now wandering first floor, ambling from one room to another, searching in his head for some fraction of peace, although secretly he was clenching onto unrest like a drowning person would a life vest. _

_This day, he found himself standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up. He took the first step, and then the other until he was at the top and staring through that long narrow hallway to the closed door at the other end. _

_There were plenty of haunted houses at the carnival. Houses with lots of doors that hinted at scary, heart thumping things behind them, but none could measure up to the terror behind that door. No reaction he'd ever witnessed in all those years, carnival to carnival, reflected what was going through his head as the images flashed freshly through his mind. _

_He stepped through the hallway, paused for a moment at the door, and then he went in. He hardly remembered crawling into the bed, but there he was. He'd curled up on his wife's side, believing that if he could even just pick up a scent, a smell that she'd left behind, he could find some relief, some peace of mind. _

_The bed was gone the next day, and the furniture was next. He picked up the phone and called goodwill, letting them cart it all away. He was left with an empty house and an air mattress that he'd setup against the wall where he and his wife used to sleep. He'd allowed the face to remain there, marking the day. Perhaps he'd wanted to torture himself in the beginning, torment himself with all the self-deprecating thoughts. A sad barrage of guilt he beat himself with relentlessly. _

_But in the end, the face served as an unconscious outward expression of what would always be in his head. Once an omen of what had occurred, now an omen of what was to come. The aim to catch Red John and to destroy his life the way he'd destroyed Patrick's. _

Corin had closed her eyes in the living room, after sipping the tea and then nestling into the large, cushy chair. He'd observed her, feeling somewhat accomplished, assured that she was dozing off. Now, here she was, curled up on the bare, full-sized bed, coddling a stuffed penguin under her chin. Someone else might have thought it to be a sign of pending insanity, sleeping in that bed, knowing what had happened there. Patrick, however, understood it too well.

If Rigsby were there, he would quickly usher her out, thinking he was doing her a favor, but not Patrick. He quietly extracted the quilt he'd spotted from the open double-door closet, and then unfolded it. He was draping it over her when she stirred.

He brought it up to her shoulders and then turned it back a little. She made a soft sound, rolled on her back, and then her fingers wrapped around his arm.

"Patrick?"

He turned to her, moved by the way she'd spoken his name, remembering when he'd once resorted to begging her to do so. That seemed a decade separated from the here and now.

Now his name had just fallen out of her mouth so easily, her silver eyes gazing into his. He tried to turn the corners of his mouth up a little. "I'm here."

"Don't leave." She begged slowly. "Please, just sit with me."

He studied her for a moment and then he withdrew his arm. Taking her hand in both of his, he lowered himself into the old, brown rocking chair beside the bed. "I'm not leaving. I'm right here ... And I'll be here."

She nodded, comforted by the warmth of his hands around hers. There was another long gap of empty time before either of them spoke again. He'd watched her, and she'd been staring at the door as if running thoughts through her head.

Then she whispered the question very matter of factly. It was the one thing he hadn't wanted to hear, but was very familiar with. Something that had haunted him for five years and for which he would never have an answer. "Was she scared?"

It nearly knocked the breath from him. He leaned forwards, mustering all the confidence he could manage. "Do you remember what I told you before? When you asked me about what she knew?"

"Yes." She answered, nodding her head slowly.

"And what did I say?"

"She knew something … Something was wrong. She was worried about me … That she wanted me …"

"To be happy, " He repeated along with her. "You're life revolved around hers, but her life revolved around yours. You know that don't you?"

He let that suggestion sink in, and then he continued. "She was here for a reason. She was here as long as she was supposed to be, to do whatever it was she was supposed to do. That's the way it is. We do what we're here for and then we're gone."

Corin flicked her eyes up at him again. "Do you believe that?"

She'd surprised him again. No one had ever called him out this way. He'd scoffed at her early on because he knew she had secrets, that she had to lie to keep them. But she was nothing compared to him.

He'd built a whole career out of secrets … Falsehoods. In the end, his life had come crashing down on him, crushing everything he'd built through those falsehoods. Was he lying now? Now when it was so pertinent that he be completely forthcoming?

He drew a breath and answered honestly. "I believe Abbie was brave. And I believe that she knew how much you loved her. That is where she found her strength. Now, she wants you to remember her by living. That's not magic or mind reading, that's listening to her own words."

"She wanted you to be happy."

Corin flicked her eyes across his face, and then she nodded. He'd given her something she could grasp. She dropped her eyes, staring at their hands wrapped up together, and then caught a glimpse of light bouncing off of the gold band encircling his finger. He let her trace it around his finger with the tip of her finger, wondering what she was thinking about now.

He didn't have to wonder for long. She drew her brows in as if concentrating. "Do you … Do you think he planned it this way? That he … Manipulated us?"

"Corin, look at me." His voice had taken on a soft commanding tone that she obeyed without resistance. She raised flickering lashes, set her eyes into his, and he in hers. Then he spoke. "Now, I want you to close your eyes."

He asked her again before she did eventually relax her eyelids until they were shut. Then he spoke in a warm, steady tone. "Now listen to my voice."

"I want you to think about the ocean. Think about the sound of the waves moving in and out, in and out. Think about how deep it is and how you could get so lost in it that no one could find you."

She didn't need to imagine for long. Her hand relaxed under his and soon she'd drifted off listening to the sound of his voice.

He'd erroneously assumed that this story, the one between them, had started that day on the beach. The day when two, seemingly unconnected, strangers just happened to cross each other paths - just like both of them had with other people so many times before.

But he now understood, clearly, that this story had already birthed before they'd ever met. That the meeting was a consummation of years of preparation, of pruning. Whether it be by the hand of fate or something else, he'd never considered such a thing before.

How completely inauspicious it was, once he'd started peeling back the layers.

She was Rigsby's sister, he was Rigsby's partner. She'd been victimized by the man that had victimized him as well. Even eerier was the timing. His part started five years after Corin's and now Abbie's had ended five years after that. A string of coincidences no man could conjure or manipulate altogether, maybe even an omen that he'd fought to ignore, but had Red John manipulated all of this? Could he have orchestrated it all?

It was obvious that Patrick was meant to see his artwork. Yes, it was likely that Red John knew full well that Corin, once discovering his handiwork, would call Patrick first and that Patrick would go to her before he contacted anyone else.

Perhaps the gesture was a message to both of them. On one hand, warning Patrick that he was getting too close to what he'd considered his property, and to Corin that she could never be free of him. Telling her that she was his property. Or perhaps he just wanted to further the sickening game that kept him endlessly amused. Cat and Mouse, Predator and prey.

Perhaps it was an ironic mixture of fate, coincidence and intelligence. Whichever the case, it hardly mattered now. Now when he'd looked down on her, and discovered his image staring back at himself in two silver pools of sorrow. A reflection he'd found more unsettling than the one in the mirror. And oddly enough, more comforting.

It was indeed a scarlet thread that bound them. A crimson chord that strung its way around and through them so intricately that no one, nothing could ever separate them.

They were connected far deeper than he'd imagined. He would stay with her, walking with her through this knowing that he, and only he, could understand it. Perhaps she, and only she, might be the only one who could truly understand him. He could see her and maybe he'd failed to consider until now, that maybe she could see him.

**THE END**

**

* * *

  
**

**A/N - There's garbly- goop down below if you're interested, and name mentioning for my readers after the garbly-goop too!**

**Did you like it? **I know, sad, but there's a hint of victory here too! We only know, well, up to episode nine, - _wait a minute, I have nine chapters!_ - that Patrick found his family after Red John got through with them. We've seen glimpses of the after effects. The empty house that he comes home to and the air mattress that he sleeps on.

So, what I aimed to do here was to explore the between, from when we see him make the discovery and the grieving process. I tried to do this through Corin's grief, as if it were happening to them both at the same time.

I hope you noticed that through the progression perspectives kind of changed, moving from Corin, and then slipping more over to Patrick until in this chapter it was all Patrick. Patrick explains it when he notes that while it seemed they were merely strangers, crossing unconnected paths, they were actually on the same path.

I also hope you noticed that this was the first time we've actually heard Patrick's name come from Corin's mouth.

Also, I've discovered that I unintentionally sort of created another diversion. Some of you thought that the little italicized bit in chapter one was a flashback … It was in fact a flash-forward to this chapter.

Anyway, there's a variety of fanfics popping up on the site now and it's gratifying to see. The show deserves it - and well, all of them are adding their own flavor and spin … it's awesome!

This is the end of this part of the story, but not the end of the whole story. There will be a part two, but I don't know how many chapters and all of that.

But, it will be very forwards and not so much backward, dark thinking. Then I have another one coming that is just sheer fun. So, thank you everyone for reading and ESPECIALLY all of you who've reviewed, put me on Alert and favorites !! **That is such a compliment!!**

* * *

**Honors Follow - **

**Thank you to …. Idlecrush - _This stories first reviewer, You are so cool! _ **

**MasqueradeWitch and Late March - _You both are so cool too! You stuck with me to the end!_**

**Amber you know me (Yes, I do!) - _I'm breathing and I'm not wearing a suit! XD_ **

**Aragornsgirl2002, BloodZephyr, Cessations, ElleKnight, Evelyn Rose, Jc6, JesusFreak213, Kai3Anime, Leafy08, Scratchit - _what a funny name!, _Capjack54, Henchgirl, Mwalter, Soncicemi, Neon Thunder - _Hey, you didn't keep your promise! - XD lol, _Tezmoore, Nicole, Penmanships, TenshiNanashi, Brook, Anna and Elfgirl325**

Thank you, **ALL** of you!!!!!!! Some of you have reviewed every chapter, you know who you are and **WOW**, you're amazing!!! Most of you have me on alert or favorites or both - what an honor! I try to review for anyone who reviews me or puts me on favs/alerts. If I have not reviewed anything of yours yet ... I will, trust me, and probably more than one.

Go read the other fics now, and while waiting for my next one, check out my newest vid - if you haven't already - set to So What?! By Pink. Haha!

.com/watch?v=O-ToaQ9k_YM


End file.
